Nomadic You

Thy touch

Neither cold nor hot,

Blue or of any hue,

Nor heavenly or earthy,

Simply Divine.

To marinate

The inner of the innermost

To the core,

Percolate and Permeate

Every time in me,

Through my skin, flesh

and bone

Like the aroma of thyme.

Surrendering all my

Rejections and acceptances,

I stand still

Like a scarecrow

Waiting for

You, the cloud nomadic ,

Thy touch, sublime.