Your hand touches mine, casually, as you speak of inanities, trivialities. My breath stops, involuntarily, and I must needs will myself to continue breathing. This simple activity, all but halted by your discreet touch. Inhalation, exhalation, breathing deep from the belly, an attempt to quell the rising tide of … what? Anxiety? Anticipation? Warning? Hope?

My breath shudders again and stops as you turn to me, your tongue slowly nipping out of your mouth to caress your lips. I find myself breathing again, shallowly, but breathing in your warm air as you turn towards me, and then dip your head and lean inwards. I close my eyes, yearning for your glorious ripe strawberry of a mouth. And there! Your lips against mine are as balmy and welcoming as an ocean breeze.