Half Eleven

My fingers,
hands,
make small designs on her back
as she sleeps
I'm communicating to her dreams
She slumbers deep
as we both lay
undressed,
I gently press
my lips to hers,
she stirs,
and mumbles
words nonsensical,
and I love her even more
as she snores
She's tired,
while I'm hardwired,
I'm pressed from a mold
that embraces northern cold,
so warmth
from her body
I treasure like gold
Leisurely fold her
in my arms
stroking her hair,
careworn,
where we lay,
I'm keeping
bad dreams at bay