contemplative

he looks thru walls

and sees windows

though which  the winter’s light

barely makes a difference

it’s supposed to be cold

he feels his words

the vibration on his fingertips

as though he was touching glass

ones and zeros start to add up

make their tally

their impression

his hand glides mindlessly

finds the small of her back

the sacred place behind her ear

pulling her close

with whispered kisses

say it for me

lips brushing

as she smiles

and breaths

contemplative