Homeless

I am penniless
yet wealthy beyond my peers.
Measured not in tokens of gold
but in tallies of smiles
your gentle face has
stamped upon my chest.
To most, if not all,
you are your breasts,
your ass,
to me, too, you are those things,
but a woman first.
A butterfly
floating from one flower to the next
kissing them with your silky wings.
I confess to be uncontented
by the practical distance
between your hips and mine.
Homelessly, I await at your door
begging shelter, warmth,
within your temple.