Perfect Picture ...

I have always wanted to remmeber her
in the most primitive way
Mornings that were born
To smell like her
Like first dew that glistened shamelessly
Windows hazed up with moistured breaths
Cradled under long nights
Of coiled up slumber
Hot coffee sips 
Cups held like her waist
Carefully with love
Waking of eyes drowsy and innocent
And the searches for a face
That lies beside
Smiles that conceals the mysteries
Written as star streaks
Across night skies
When bodies didn't matter
And respirations mingled
To form the perfect picture
Her and me and us.