as her hands stroke mine

06abr10

(masi)

as if we were magnetic and every human and inhuman inch of our beings was taking this whimsical feeling to the very core of it,
we knew we had to hold each other, like the bud urges to blossom, and the stars insist to Be even if they’ve been dead for a million years.
The moment, an infusion steeped by the warm likeness of a fever, melted and faded as her hands stroked mine in a glance throughout my Self.
It impressed me, this suspended, floating, glaring, ethereal feeling. It took me away, and I don’t want to be taken back.

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