A simple caress.
Yes, you are the moon that grows pink angel’s trumpets near the still ponds of my warmth, but you don’t need to do anything. I’m not looking for you to restore the dilapidated portions of my castle or to rebuild my labyrinths of peace. I simply want you near while I labor; to give you love. To feel your affection raining from above from kisses and hugs. You are who I wish I cherish and adore; littering the floor with petals so your grace will be recognized by all.
Jonathan M. Emerson