and in the not speaking,

we hear what we need.

and in the glances

we see the paradise.

and in the not touching

we still find yearning.

or you could turn all these things on their head, and say we don't talk, don't touch, don't see~
***********************************************************
Your Perception, the one you made in the secret hours of childhood, when they thought you were asleep. you would crawl out of bed to watch out the window, at a wide world, as yet frustratingly unknown to you~
And thirst to know it more~
and crave to touch its velvet underbelly, its rough and course outer shell.


Your Perception, the one that was molded and sometimes forced around the wrong sized feet, the wrong sized coat, a too small across the chest feeling. You knew then, as you know now, it wasn't meant to be.

Your Perception, as it was actually *painful* to have nothing constricting you, as you wandered through your first apartment, empty rooms, filled journals of desire to begin something GRAND, but god knows how to start.

Your Perception. That everything you choose, is the right one for you. That you will stumble. That you will be forgiven. That you may lash out at those you love, because it is safe to do so.
(((That you will triumph.)))
That you will hold still, and it will feel good. That you will share sexual ecstasy, and hold no regret.
That you will try, to the end of your days, to see the paradise, that has always been, outside your moonlit window.


I dedicate this poem, to all of my new friends, and to my love,
I share this road with you, and yet I don't,
As Always,
Promise

and some other photo's I really like:
www.impressionistprints.com/imag...0.jpg
www.loc.gov/folklife/sta...s/dcphoto.jpg

psychoanalyst.ru/old/i/esher.jpg