do you feel like flying,
do you feel like becoming more than who you are,
do you feel like you are becoming who you are suppose to become?
The lines etched in your palm are the branched of my tree of life,
Fingers and palms intertwined, opening, closing finding balance,
The back of your index finger tracing my check bone down to my parted lips,
Your warm renewing breath on the naked nape of my neck,
Timeless, spaceless and formless touch transcends our bodies.