When I reach my hands across the restaurant table to hold yours, you grasp them, our fingers quickly intertwine.
Encircled in your arms, I kiss your lips. Our mouths easily open.
You take a step down the stairs, and stop to make sure I am following.
You slide your arm around my shoulder and touch the top of my hair, lightly, petting me.
"I am my beloved's.
And my beloved is mine."
Solomon sang from the top of his mountain.
The top of the clouds
Where quiet love like this