This isn't so much poetry - haven't  done much of that recently - just an experiment. It's a little scatty but any thoughts on it would be greatly appreciated!

p.s. I'm not so sure about the "fluffy comfort" - perhaps it sounds too much like a fabric softer?

Clouds

On the roof and on top of her world,
terracotta tiles warm beneath her feet
while a quick wind plays about her neck
dashing down her spine
hunching her sholders and raising her head to the sky
where nonchalant clouds catch her eye

and they really are just like cotton wool
she thinks.
Then
on impulse 
              and on
                      tip
                        - toe
with the rush of the breeze
she reaches up to touch them
straining against sunlight
trying to feel
experience the plush whiteness
against her palms, 
fluffy comfort
among her fingers.

but she cannot reach high enough.

Sighing into the wind, she sinks to the floor,
watches and waves goodbye
as they continue to curve softly about the shadows,
and vanish behind the hill.