He was a potential traveller.
Early one morning,
When beads of dew were held
By the blades of grass,
And he could blow his favourite smoky breath,
He told the lady of his dreams
He had the urge to feel her warmth.
He remembers when he had played with naked feet,
Someone took him up and cuddled him
Into the warmth of her body.
It still evokes the precise feeling,
That was synonymous with love
He can feel a guilt-ridden love like that.
He knows his dreamlands are chilly,
And he fears
The touch would ruin the journey of his dreams.