Empty sky... pallid light looking like a frosted glass
Darkened land, trampled grass at end of day,
Dry but a cold sense of season's turning.
And thou, a warmth, a present presence
Warm and alive, a hand in mine
the soft touch of hip
once in a while
as we walk
slowly back to a waiting car.

Stopping short,
as if by an arranged signal,
turning to look into depthless eyes,
an anticipation of breathing,
wind wanders about your curls.

My hand on the curve
of a trembling waist,
I sense the fear and desire;
the want and the wane
of selfness.

All sight is banished except for your eyes,
all breath is abated except for the wind's.
A warm touching, a pressing, a hunger,
a dancing away and a pressing forward
into my embrace.

Stepping back and seeing you again
now new and familiar

First Kiss