I long to sit across from you, 
   in a softly lit inn 
far enough that I want to be closer, 
     close enough that I can push my knee between yours 
and 
     briefly catch the irresistible scent of you.

I want to watch as you sip a cocktail 
and 
     get lost in the curves of your lips, 
          dry, 
          and moist, 
         soft 
       yet firm 
     with gentle turns that meet in the upward slope of your soft smile
.
Your hands, 
        watching your hands as they 
              tense and relax, 
              grip and let go. 
 The delicate softness of your fingertips as a few gently 
        brush my hand in silent recognition of the river 
                that runs between us.

I long for the nearness of your warmth 
        that feeds the hearth fire in my heart and 
        soothes my hunger. 

I ride the waves of conversation and 
         questions and 
                introspections 
sparking between us.

You, 
    for me, 
    are the ambrosia that the creator has presented.

Blessed be the unseen maker of things for allowing our streams to cross.

July, 2024