Her Fingers

Her fingers
Play in my hair
And I think of evening rain
Lovers racing the coming storm
And ice cream
Churned on a wide front porch.

Her fingers are long
Slender
Soft
Like early winter snow on blades of grass.

Her fingers
Styled for dancing across my body
Brings me to attention
The way a farmer coaxes life from loam.

Her fingers
Play in my hair
Like children chasing fireflies
Laughter ringing in the dark.

Her fingers
Play in my hair
The way she dips her toes in a stream
Traces the bridge of my nose with her finger
Or absently brushes a ladybug from her arm.

Her fingers
Comb my hair
Raking patterns in my soul
Like a Zen priest toils
To bring order and calm
To his garden of sand.

Her fingers
Play in my hair
While I imagine how to repay
Her affection
In ways that might draw butterflies
With no fear of capture.