I reach to each side of my bed at night
In hopes my arms will reach far enough
To be able to touch your skin
And pull you in close

Stretching our hands out to replace our fingertips with soft-brissled brushes.
Intertwined into each other as if there were no possible way we were seperable.

Our brushes went straight to work,
Slowly and gently sweeping their way over each remarkable feature so eager to comprehend them,
But too quick to linger.

Swiping off dust here and there, prepping the perfect canvas to invest our minds in.
The heat of our bodies so emerged brings a calm sense of eternity to my mind,
What's happening on your side?

The brushes slyly move off to work again,
Working towards new discoveries about us, who we are, where were going, what were doing. Each one a new reason to love one another more.

Our brushes are still dusting for now.
I reach over and find you next to me;
and they release their paint.

C.l