You own me,
at least you hold
what Gibran called 'the shell
that encloses... understanding'
in your two cupped palms.
I feel trembling in your fingers,
and the perspiration of excitement
seeps through the membrane
around my body and soul.
When your heart beats fast,
its rhythm thunders through my bones
and my own heart,
catching the frequency,
pounds in time.
When you breathe softly,
in sleep or contemplation,
my soul, too, steadies.
Exhaling, I smile.
In step, we pace
the corridors of existence.
In step, we climb
the gentle green slopes to the crest of a distant hill.
