Fingertips like historians marking down for the ages all they touch when we are together

Eyes open, never shuttered, taking in every color, shade, and shadow. An artist gathers her arsenal

Inhaling, scenting the air, a map of the places we go. Your scent becoming a bread crumb trail back to a warm place inside

Listening, recording the sounds that make up a landscape of now. The groove deepening

Painting layers of time

Reveling in the seconds

Pouring the hours over us like linseed oil