Waking to my love

Soft tendrils of form finger-touch
The beginnings of consciousness.
An image floating, closeted
In the deep recesses of mind,
Appearing, disappearing;
Drifting on a warm, streaming light,
Leaking past fluttering eyelids.
Faster now, a steady presence,
Image slowly bringing focus;
Eyes opening onto a smile
Whose lips briefly press their desire
Upon a softly waking face.
Your eyes staring up into those
You know have one life-long message
That is the tenderness of love.