I want to be able to touch you and my fingertips will mark your skin. And if you read the prints, they will scream of faith.
I want you to see yourself in me. To look in my eyes and know that the confidence I have in you—exists.
I want to grab your hand and kiss your cheek. And with my adoration, know that the completeness I have is yours.
I wish I could cut from my skin—hope, and sew it to your soul. And I wish you would know that the hope that was mine, came from you.
From dust to dust.
And although the breeze played with your hair and the wind whipped your face with coarse lessons—It is still your face, still your hair.
And now that you have felt the breeze, and danced in the wind, you are wiser.
You.
I see you in the breeze and feel you in the wind.
You are.
From dust to dust.

06/07/2002

Posted on 07/25/2002
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