You lie there at night, golden skin,
tousled hair, innuendo falling from thy lips.
Wanting to touch you, but I sit here, immobile.
Trying to tell you, but no sound escapes my lips.
Whilst you sleep, I caress you with gaze alone,
whisper sweet nothings in the silence.
The curve of your face melting into
the curve of ink on paper,
my ode to you.