A Poem A Day, Poem #2

spring is a creature that crawls like a
slightly softer whisper than the breath
of a buzzing in the heart where you float
on the air of knowing that your blood is
warm when hands find your hair like fingers
were standing them up on the end of a
sleepy sensation in the snowy reckoning
of a kissable wing so fragile in the storm
of something bigger than slippery sex or
as jagged as drowning to death in the dance
of your elegant tickling arms making laughs
out of the sporting shine from my soul, which
is a conscious thing waiting to wake you up in
a dream for game playing and secret saying