Remember you the trails and
forest we walked with hands
Joined, and heads leaning
against each other, as if
We were hiding within ourselves?
Kahlil Gibran (1833-1931)
…taking her hand, he turned it over and pressed his lips into the palm. Something vital, electric, leaped from him to her at the touch of his warm mouth, something that caresses her whole body thrillingly. His lips traveled to her wrist and she knew he must feel the leap of her pulse as her heart quickened and she tried to draw back her hand. She had not bargained on this– this treacherous warm tide of feeling that made her want to run her hands through his hair, to feel his lips upon her mouth. Margaret Mitchell (1900-1949)
Passion such as hers is all consent, asking little in return: I had merely to enter a room where she was to see her face take on that peaceful expression of one who is resting in bed. If I touched her I had the impression that all the blood in her veins was turning to honey. Marguerite Yourcenar (1903-1987)
She half enclosed me with her arms.
She pressed me with a meek embrace;
and bending back her head,
she looked up,’and gazed upon my face.
‘Twas partly love, and partly fear,
and partly ’twas a bashful art,
That I might rather feel, than see,
The swelling of her heart.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834)