Ingrained

It’s a thing of beauty
an absolute kill-joy,
the way I can miss we;
my fingers in your palm,
forehead at your chin,
intertwined, comfortably nestling,
there’s a li’l something we’re growing.
Early morning stretch routines
to moonlight dance dreams;
at each step, foretold, we meet
absorbing, melting, observing
as one surge, another greets.
Never stopping, everlasting
In a single heart beat,
a lifetime’s worth of living.