We sat shoulder to shoulder. During a moment of silence between us, I slid my hand down her arm, extended my fingers and grasped her hand and she grasped mine. "If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss" (Shakespeare, 1.5.91). She turned her head toward me and I leaned in. Then, we kissed. Paused. And, then, we kissed, again. From that moment, I was hers and she was mine (Young Ezekiel, 103). |