I see her on the beach, white linen form-fitted from the ocean's kiss. Facing the orange-red sunset waters...back arched, arms outstretched, fingers separated, eyes closed, chest heaving...she grs the power of desire for enveloped love and passion.

The island of Crete rises above the sun spangled-tipped waters of the Mediterranean. She walks the shore; her steps leave no prints. The gods serve ambrosia and the finest wines of the heavens to celebrate her being, just being, and not doing. Stay herself and spirits will soar with truth, the gods say.

Aphrodite, in the hiss, calls her lover, as Thor rides across the sky welding his hammer, Mjolnir, brightening the indigo world and illuminating her face and form.

She is there. I see her. I want a god of togetherness to wrap us in otherworldy feelings of love.

She is here now, the truth says...taste her in the moist air, enclose her in love, as our hearts tell us so.