First Draft

Do you feel my lips pressed against your shirt,
while fingertips search the sheets for your neck?

How I breathe, comfort lingering in your scent,
tracing thoughts of you with each slower breath?

I miss your touch for fears of future work,
someday pulsing lovers' hope through my breast?

Oneday might sleep a loving week with you,
relaxed sighs rising fall against your chest?

And a desperate month apart, I wonder;

do you press back?