Tip Of The Tongue

She barely makes a sound
effortlessly enters the room
she is the breeze ever refreshing
I start to speak but can't
it is on the tip of my tongue

Unwinding from a day's stresses
the will that reinforces less certain creatures
is unguarded, less dubious of the surroundings
I tell her what I am thinking
yet stop because the word is on the tip of my tongue

She caresses and smooths the impressions
made by the day
not certain if my selfish demands should be voiced
the naughty nature of a beast starved
just on the tip of my tongue

As if a mystic she redirects the caressing
to my anatomy, what a healing sensation
as if her energy is renewed
finger from her honey region to mine
examining the tip of my tongue

South and north, north and south
either direction feels divine
and mutual contentment, party on
for she loves being on the tip of my tongue!