You don't cross my mind, you live in it.
I remember the way you look at me, the feeling of your silken gaze over me, soft as when you run your fingers through my straightened hair.
You are my afflatus.
You are my whim.
You are my fate.
Touch never burns with the heat of fire, no, for in our soul it's a soothing salve, a calming breeze but not with the rough hands of others.
No.
For they hold no tenderness, no softness in their hearts for us. Teach me how to fight, let us catch the fists with a smile and let us follow each other's every breath.
You are my notion.
You are my result.
You are my everything.
Do you think of me while folding your clothes? The light of the moon shining in, as you carefully fold your clothes, forcing out all the wrinkles. I wonder if you think of me, and what memories might run through your mind of the time that we spent together, side by side. As you fold your clothes, do you remember my words? Do you remember my touch?Do you still feel your heart beating fast at the thought of me?
You are my perception.
