Their lips brushed like wind and flowers in a meadow,
Tangible but so gentle both might have sworn it was a dream,
A ghostly apparition - dead but of perfect beauty,
floating in the darkness and the space between them,
If the shier one had not unconsciously spoken her thoughts.
She blushed and said, "will you do it again...?"
The damsel's mouth hovered so close to hers,
she could feel the air they shared
As if the atmosphere itself was determined to bind these two together.
And yet, they hung there, suspended on the edge of a passion,
Willing but not willing,
Apathetic in thought,
Neither of them bound to any sort of fate.
As the girl realized this, her breath was caught;
for that was the true beauty of the moment.
Minutes passed that might have been years,
And there was no uncertainty remaining in the immobile figures of the damsel and the girl.