Contact

This touch...

Air conforming to the
curve of our
existence.

The world breathing slight
against the skin.

And subtle fingers play as the wind...a brush so
slight it lingers as a sigh.

This holy contact.

Space making love to
what it defines.

While receiving what we
offer in return.

 

 

~

 

 

 

There is nothing that's

beyond us.

We touch all that we gaze and beyond in the

infinite reach of imagination.

And this contact - made holy still - by the

world in its caress against us.

 

 

 

Peace,

Eric