truth

[slowlyunfolding]

running my hands
down your mountain side
feeling the sharp pointed ends
of firs
or pines
the closer to the summit
air thinning and chill
everything is wondrous
in the tentative, timid light
we'd be so close
our breath would mingle
hanging drops of dew
suspended forever
no awkwardness or hesitancy
we would be newly made
our eyes would see
for the first time
and be amazed