It's a candlelit room and the afterglow. It's the echo heard long after the sighs and the laughter. It's a long kiss after a short time apart. It's a pool stick chalked, her gaze falling on you and moving through your center. It's a BART train arriving and a walk to the car. It's food when you're hungry, an oasis when you're parched. It's a rough conversation, but she's stroking your hair. It's a foundation you're building to grow if you dare. It's Elvis and blue monsters. It's sparks and the blaze. It's coming and coming and coming again. It's more than letters, more than words, more than the metaphors we use to describe the feeling, the beating, the pulling, the smiling inside.

July 31, 2001