Locus Mysterious Poem by T.R. James Bray

Do you remember that place?
The one you have always said was there,
if I looked hard enough.
When I was a child, I would peer into your long, thick, scarlet locks
searching for it.
My fingers tangled in the twists of your beauty.
Watching the sun reveal the copper shine over all the curls I made.
I was positive I made them.
One at a time.
After hours of searching, I would rest with you as you took reprieve from the domestic sentence thrust upon you.
The warmth I could feel through my chest
as our breathing came into rhythm.
Your body cushioned by the soft white shag carpet
and me on your back gave me the sense
I was near to finding it.
Or when you hummed softly to me stroking my hair
on our green, Victorian style, Sears catalog couch
trying to lull my energized body to sleep.
You only ever hummed; you thought your voice was terrible.
To me your voice has always been the mist
off the waterfall of your words,
the most beautiful place to trap light, see rainbows.
Because it must be near you, this special place.
I've felt so close before and I will keep looking,
but if I never find it my heart tells me,
no one has been closer.