Tourist Poem by Kewayne Wadley

The touch of your lips felt as heavenly as heaven.
Calmly peering into the eyes that indeed looked on, watching in wonderment.
I was a tourist here. To the touch of your embrace.
Not once did I lose interest upon losing myself. It was impossible not to look up as the ceiling above me disappeared.
My fingertips dwelled in every touch presented by the warmth of your hand.
Had I died and awoke somewhere else.
Bestowed with a picture of perfection
Two angels seeking heaven in the pillows of each others touch.
Vibrant kisses that melt into a blueberry colored sky under the sun.
Lustrous eyes that melt in the ambience of each others breath.
Encased in the glass museum of clouds that flutter by as a ship descendind south of the waves of chills across our skin.
I was a tourist here. Above the clouds on board the back of an angel.
Ascending upward continuing to climb each breath that slips through your lips