Walking by a freshly painted house, the color a certain shade of blue, with patches of white still showing through, my nostrils flare and fill with those invisible turpentine fumes, and which grow weaker as I recede away into the evening light,

thinking this is how I approach you too, first thing after waking, you voice low and crackling with sleep, your body that hue of sky as it is breaks open with light, you scent of fruit flaming in the half dark, a dawn firefly visible even before I see or touch you -

O, why do I keep forgetting not to Touch your dream wet body yet? Why do I keep wanting more than this sufficiency of sound, vision and smell?

Amazing imagery in your words...

-Bubbles (www.xanga.com)