Rose Tint

In anticipation, I imagine:

soft skin scented like rose,

eyes striking mine so softly.

feather light fingers dance

upon my arm to my cheek.

I see, with great hope for it:

gentle linen sheets, twisted

around bodies twisted too.

warm tea in cupped hands,

warm forms in tight embrace.

Yet I fear, as I don’t know:

how our hands will fit together,

or if our bodies will lock tight.

if fantasy will prove real,

or if i’ll slip back to lonely night.