Overcast. Light slides through the blinds, easing around the shadows.
Weak, unable to do more than expose shapes.
You reading by the lamp. Your book -- a white glare, your features cast in high relief, I come up behind your chair. This dark haired man reaches out and traces the line of your jaw, follows the whorl of your ear.
My large hand cups the side of your face as you rest against it.
Closing your book, turning off your lamp -- you rise-- stirring the shadows as you come to stand next to me.
We watch the moon rise in this evening twilight. Silver, large, sitting on the horizon, this pocked marked orb sits just below the clouds, resting, before its leap into the sky.
This softness in my arms curls her arms around me. Hair against my face, lips on my neck, I feel the transfer -- electric -- of magic.
The love in my heart awakens joyously joining with you, my lady, in this room where shadows fold like origami into shadows. This room is disguised with our dreams.