Easy now…

Fragile things can bruise with the slightest impression.
The kiss is earned.
Mark it heavy, within your soul, when I tell you,
My heart is made of papier-mâché.
Stand still, my Love,
Even a breath of wind can blow it over.

Careful...

Your hands are rough,
But they are just what I need,
In order to feel again.
Press your touch into me.
I need to know that I’m still breathing.

Wait for it…

One distinctive act can cause another.
One can stumble,
One can fall down,
Or…one can choose to fall in love.

Cease and be still…