I am waking up in her arms. She is warm, my sanctuary. I push myself back into her body, pull off my clothes, wanting her close.

I climb out of bed and step outside. I feel water hitting my face--storm clouds breaking on the horizon, making way for the sun to shine through. We are adrift at sea. We are alone. We are together. The water is rough from the passing tempest, prowling around us in angry swells, resisting the calm that's coming.

And there is a lighthouse on the shore to steer us from the rocks, to protect us in rough waters, to keep us from drifting ashore. There is a light in my heart that is hers, where I hold her close, where I store her beauty in reserves that guide me through these rough waters. I want this. I want to make my way through this voyage with her, feel her lace her arm around me and watch the sun come up on deck, listening to the water lap up against the edges of our boat. Alone. Together.

March 15, 2002