Too Late to be Thursday

A low and gentle moan escapes my lips
as your voice travels from ear to primal consciousness.

A liquid laugh…
a tale spun from childhood memory and present longing,
savory in my mouth; too satisfying to swallow or forget.

Two ancient souls reawakening to each other
caught in a dance of words…of sensation,
unaware of time
or space
or the sun creeping closer to the horizon

A dawn awaits
cloaked in longing and what might be…
longing indeed.