At my back she stirs, murmurs
Her arms, entwine my frame,
In her blind embrace,
A mark of, wordless claim.
Her fluttering fingertips,
Wisps upon my moonlit skin,
Draw small galaxies
Up and down my spine,
Spinning planets and suns,
Moons and stars into
The universe of me.
My poet, she, celestial artist,
Writing, drawing me with touch,
Blind and feeling words,
Etched in poems on my skin,
And in my heart,
In ancient runes made of,
Tactile touches of
Love and mystery.
Donovan Baldwin