her soul imbues dewy
against foreign affection;
tracing, verging,
happening
to assuage the intimate heat
of an echoing dream

whispers of love
balm and cradle capriciously,
mutely in the shroud
of cushy ballads

and she
oh, she remains convoluted with her
bedeviled adorer
as beaded breath traces softly
down her tender cheek

this is her
contentment.