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