If only my lover's breath
caressed me in closeness
like a flower's silken kiss.
Like rain that caresses and makes the air sweet.
Lover that is not my lover.
You are that small chill that sends me a shiver.
Or the breeze,
out of warm quiet nights,
that brushes tingling whispers into my ear.
If only you were that breeze.

Instead,

only the gusty zephyrs of lingering impulses.
While only the gentle, warm breaths
breathed like ghosts,
could still such airs.
An ache,
            sometimes,
like a pounding thunder
cries to me for that tender release.
            Cries to you,
strange beloved one.
 
Dark, fragile lotus,
I hold you in the fingertips of dreams.
And slowly to my lips I take you,
only to feel your breath, and touch the softest touch.
 
Then you are air.
            And I must breathe.