It isn't all about chocolate. Sometimes I yearn for the Scratch of salt across my lips Or the pucker of lemon As bright as the sun Against my tongue. At night, I yearn for the The brush of your skin, Barely touching the tips of my fingers to the side of your arm As I drift into sleep. I yearn for the warm, dewy Air of summer evenings, For the drone of the mower and the lazy hum of bees by the red geraniums. I yearn for turquoise twilight And the squeal of childrens' Laughter from the yard Coming and going, Drifting through the windows As we smile at one another.