The cold chill of the morning frosts my breath as I sip the cinnamon laced tea that you made for me.

Looking out across the out stretched hands of the valley, the steamy cinnamon swirls twirl and mix with my hot breath to disappear above my thoughts.

I sit and listen to mornings great awakening as you lift open the window to embrace the fresh air of early fall.

The smell of the Passion Fruit candle we burned all night lingers mystically in the air as if it beckons me once again to lay you down.

That girlish smile greats my boyish grin with entwined provocative thoughts of our night.

I am always amazed with each lover’s dance.

Each time a newness in mind, body, and spirit heightens my desire for your touch.

The heat from your body warms me as we cuddle on the swing while it creaks in rebellion to our swaying.

The sun grows in the eastern sky, naked and full of fire and warmth.

Each colorful ray is a hand gently stroking your body giving rise to erect rose buds tinged by the chill of my breath growing hot on your neck.

No phone ringing, no kids screaming, no television blaring, just the music that we make is playing softly as the swing creaks and moans while I lay you down once again.

Rb 10-06-8