Coming Home

 I know it's her, it could only be her. My nose has found that scent, the one that sets my body to tinkling like wind chimes in a storm. It smells of the grace of waves that slowly stroke the beach.... The smell of eyes fixed in adoration on ever changing flames.

Theres no need to open my eyes, I'll leave them closed for now while the scent strums through me and leave the searching to my mind.

The sound of her feet is the sound of her sighs against the crook of my neck, the curve of the floorboards under her almost slender weight is an image in a dimly lit mirror of the way she moved beneath me.

The  ground hisses in pain at the shortness of her soles kisses as she walks towards me, each step redefining the envy of the languages of the world. The day we find the language in that sound is the day the fruition of mankinds time on earth will be the formation of three words.

It's getting hard to hold on now as she moves towards that place that has no match in heaven, hell, nirvana or the redemption written in eternal words. The spot where the ground grew grooves that matched her stance when she turned to leave.

When those grooves are smoothed over by gentle steps, then the time will come to open the eyes that I closed so long ago. I'll open them and see the sweet honey skin on the palm that reaches for my cheek and the way she moves like a shadow caught in the joy of expressing life only known through the movements of others.

I will open those eyes that saw unwilling images and point them towards the lifting curves of lips that match my own and our hopes will rise with them.
When your soft lashes part and look through mine, I'll know your home.
And I will be too.