Before we meet, before the first kiss is gifted, before I smell the scent of your neck, before your hand brushes a bare bit of my skin, before the space between us is closed, there is innocence.

I know nothing of you before these moments…no more than a stranger can know, no more than the truths you try to tell me. These truths are not real truths, they are only reflections of truths. Real truths are in the knowing of skin and what our eyes say to each other during passion or anger or in the soft light of morning

(The image is a woodcarving by Jean-Claude Gaugy: http://www.weinstein.com/gaugy/Innocence.jpg)

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