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At times I'm taken to think,

But in truth,

That witch I do lies on the edge of thought,

And you are in that place,

Our silent place

From our subsequent meetings

After the not so private first one.

At times, yes...

And again, in truth,

In a more frequent

And persistent manner,

In one moment,

That encompasses all that was said,

Done and felt,

And also what was known,

Beyond any words or even thoughts,

I find myself complete.

Isn't that ironic?

In truth, no.

The waves of this sea

Crash in the sand

In layers of meaning,

And even though the dry sand

Running through my fingers,

Gathering at my feet,

Seems to bury me,

It is the warmth of the sand

I most feel in my naked skin,

As if it were your skin

Brushing mine in a lovers caress,

But underneath

This surface sensation,

And beyond any and all swirling emotions,

We lock gases and intertwine

More in that place

Than in any other we could.