Cotton Joy

Grasping you in my hands with a lone tear,
I gently stroke your lace with a finger,
Your perfect blue bandings always endear.
With a breath, I raise you, ‘tops my thinker,
And finally bring you down upon me.
Confidently, with pizazz, no doubts here.
The sibling piece below brings no such glee,
Who I don daily as any such gear.
Soft pima cotton gently hugs my head,
Pressing my hair upon my scalp with love.
‘Tis a kind of pleasure best left unsaid.
Suffice to say, I’m no innocent dove.
It is this pair resting atop my mind,
Which stirs something else, otherwise confined.