Two years old here, but the poem is probably well over ten years now.
A jubilant summer’s breath whispers
as it dances through my hair;
entwined and everywhere, a rush
caresses me from within.
Fields a glaze with dew and song,
apples fall and bound along
till picked up from wet grass
with a touch, a hold so whole, like
a cool, everlasting kiss.
Suspicion turns to face the breeze,
emotions bristle over skin;
a touch from everywhere, so real,
becomes a dream inside.
The orchard pales to black and white,
all I feel is the cold sunlight
till a breath of air is warm and near
and I fear, if I tremble I will fall, so
I hold onto you, a cool everlasting