there comes the intimate moments, the fleeting moments of euphoria I could never bottle but only yearn for; and between long sighs and songs of silence, what is it we speak of?  a language, a language far older than time itself, words that have never met paper, words that have never climbed out of our throats and rolled off of our tongues but bellow within the walls of our minds and, during moments of comfort and intimacy, of soft touches and flowery caresses, of the brush of fingers and gazes locked flood every inch of our souls.  and as it is far too overwhelming, all there is to do is sigh and enjoy such fleeting moments, a paradise commanded to root up from earth by the mere trace of fingers over skin, of warm eyes and even warmer embraces, embraces I needn't ask for, of quiet whispers and high notes, the intimacy of immaculate songs at the earliest moments of the morning...