Drift

Someday we'll have
a little space
that smells like pine
and lavender—
Warm embraces
of musk and might
in the silences
of dusk and night—
Wake up to fingers
aching through
the stained windows
to relief—
caresses and clutching
to the last fragments
of sleep—
Sleepy eyes and round
cheeks glittered
by the sunlight
and drops of green tea
on a soft wood table.