Our every touch is a question asked by
the whispered stroke of
fingers.
There is patience found to the
repeated measure of our
asking.
Yet still the questions fall between
us in a silent wall of longing.
Tonight...will we step beyond the
confines of existence?
Will the promise of our fingers lead
to something more?
Tonight...will we seek to know the
limits of our senses?
Nothing waits for our awareness.
And your arms invite the subtle
death of my restraint.
Tonight...there is no need for
us to answer.
To simply ask -
This alone may be enough.
Love,
Eric
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