missing one

There is presents sense, a sense of knowing another is near. In the quiet of the night, when there is no light to see, the image of of the beloved eched in the mind to guild the touch; the quiet before the storm of passion the memory of the soft vocals to come and the howl of passion to come; the tingle of the tongue of what is to come that knows all the tendor places and their nectures to be found; the knowing sent of our objects desire just beyond range.

To step into a room and without seeing, hearing, or smelling, to know that she is there in the mind's eye and to feel the pulse and rush of blood surge at her mirror presents