The Napper

Nothing intoxicates me more than she—she with the curly locks
and the wicked grin
and the sassy comebacks.

Nothing makes me more giddy than the flip of her fingers
dismissing air and poor logic with irreverence
and a hint of pregnant contempt.

Nothing endears me more than the intensity of her gaze—
the eyes that will not settle for less than truth;
the impatient pools of thought that are filled with abundant interest.

Nothing settles my soul more than the warmth of her hand
trusting mine to guide her and escort her and comfort her
even when it rests in a blissful sleep, just pressing close to mine.

Nothing comes close to this. Nothing.