our fingertips meet gently on the rim of porcelain and as we take a sip from liquid infinity all the numbness abides - induced by frost and rain.
the ember glow ascending from your eyes - no tender coffee with cream could ever achieve - is the epitome of what makes my inner child arise.
and i adore the way your index finger moves around the surface of the storm-kissed-window, while you utter your thanks for whatever makes this autumnal evening swirl in an indigo-colored vertigo.