The sensation of you presses against my arms, pulsing in the muscles of these limbs;
it is the memory of our ascent.
The taste of you lingers on my lips, in the creases and folds of this ethereal sheath,
the memory of our corporal conference.
The sound of your gentle breath vibrates through these bones, sighing in softness, singing in strength,
in the memory of our proximity.
The quality of your gaze resides in within me, a residue which rests behind the glass of my eye and the mirror of my mind,
the memory of our meeting.
Already we construct a history. Already we weave memories through the strands of our sinew. Already we share, we open and unfurl to the present, and these delicate moments which reside beneath the surface of our skin. Already we exist.