I am the wind.
They all know I have many I love.
As I dance through their hair.
And whisper sweet-nothings into their ears.
For only a moment, we are close, we are one.
Until I leave them breathless, reaching out with mouth agape before their arms slowly fall back to their sides.
They know I have an agenda, a life not subservient to theirs.
A life of adventure and rush and joy and I will not wait for no one.
So all they have left is to smile at our memories, a mutual understanding.
And on certain blustering days, I find my way back to their hair.
And decorate it with tangles of sweet, fickle memory.