Branches transforming into her hair
Watching, but not meaning to stare
I wonder, how often your mind goes there
Your hands slowly needing to gather
One delicate end to the other
In an effort to feel her
Lightest of tree feathers linger
Cascading through your rough fingers
Your senses confirming, as lips simper
Silky, smooth and smelling of pine
I know you think of her all the time
Understanding now, you’ll never be mine


