I long for closeness.
For understanding each other with half a word —
when I say only a fragment of a thought, and HE picks it up and answers — also with a fragment — and I understand.
Feeling the situation alike. Together.
Wisdom and understanding.
The desire to create rather than to squander.
To birth rather than to consume.
Tenderness. Dissolving into it.
The ability to live by feelings.
Romance. And the simple, everyday joy.
A shared gift for savoring any moment.
Any moment of life.
Smiles in the morning.
Warm hands, finding each other at night, as we sleep.
Warm, gentle hands, awakening each other from dreams, so that we might press even closer again and again.
The feeling of how tender — and yet how enduring — what binds us is,
within us, around us, everywhere.
Hungry yet calm, tender lips seeking my temple or my shoulder.
Hands in which my cheeks catch fire.
A strong back, to which I will offer the warmth of my own hands.
Magical, deep eyes, in which I will see myself.
And a heart — a heart I will fill with all my love.