not to touch

I read Neruda with you  
in a dream
worthy of your untamed mouth, 
your heavy eyes 
holding the deep night's velvet,
your hands, impossible  
not to touch 

I woke with you 
my eyelids  
draped, and then 
opened to cold solitude,
an emptiness caressed  
by dawn’s orange fingers 
your touch fleeing on chaste butterfly wings 

my love, a transparent child,
cries soft round tears 
that float up and leave my 
tender kisses in the 
pure whiteness of clouds.