To Gina

Though your head rests
Upon gentle cloud
Beyond my gaze,
Your face haunts me
In my sleep.

Though your laugh falls
Upon leaves unturned
E'er by my feet,
It echoes softly
Within mine ears.

Though your fingers seek
For fallen fruit
Far from my reach,
Your touch still thrills
Upon my back.

And though your lips
Do sip upon nectar
I cannot smell,
Their sweet taste
Lingers upon mine.

So when your hair
No longer falls
Upon covers unturned
By mine hands,
But upon my chest,
'twill be thrice blessed.