Some sweet indescribable delicacies such as your breath on my cheek and the light in your eyes all conspire to weaken my knees. The palm of a hand the map of the soul our fingers entwined, each line reflected by each. Simple dreams are easily shared and we have no ambitions for fame and fortune, only for time together and experiences shared.

No I don't have it all figured out but I think I know where to start, close to where your thumbnail traces gently around the knuckle of my index finger, or perhaps where my fingertips brush against that scar on your shin from a cycling accident, or where my hair falls across your chest, these are the intimacies of familiarity.

The sky reflects the color of the ocean, such a brilliant cyan blue, the wing-beats of a blue heron silent and carrying a deeper spiritual message. There are different kinds of energy, different levels of knowledge, alternate perspectives and above all there is truth. Truth holds us all accountable, spins us in cycles that rotate to the same rhythm as the heron's flight. Call it karma or fate or kismet or just dumb luck and I will call it design.

The golden mean, the facets of a tourmaline crystal, the description of hoofprints in sand combed by the ocean waves seem far too eloquent to be constructed by chance alone. The rhythms of the moon and the rhyme of the sea, the songs in the Northern Lights, like whales singing across the ocean to each other, like aspen trees interlaced, like elephants mourning their dead, things beyond our senses, the communication and imperceptible weaving of elaborately combined elements... this is a beautiful world. The pattern of light cast by the setting sun, filtered through cotton drapes and dappled on soft skin, please just give me the strength to breathe it in, to keep it as close to my heart as is physically possible.