I woke early this morning...

Dear Lady XXXX,

I woke early this morning, knowing that a courier had delivered me your words, but the warmth of those words held me under quilt for dawn to come. Now I have read and re-read your fine words wrought from your delicate hands yet sung through such a strong and harmonious heart. Needless to say, I have already saddled my steed for the journey to see you today and my heart is beating quicker; she stand ready to bare me across the distance to your embrace unaware of the urgency I feel to see you once again.

Steal me away to the quiet of your room for I could not interrupt the glorious lady that is, and even should those thoughts rest with mine, since mine would be only in idolisation of the lady before me, you would not be interrupted. But that your guests could dine in your divinity, while I must watch the glow from afar. At first I thought it was the Moon rising, but that the Moon already in the serenity of darkness would be jealous I found the glow on the horizon could only come from your radiance.

You speak of desire and you must know that I feel it also, tugging gently at me and at times not so gently. The desire for exploration both within and without is shared; that the goodness of the entire would could be in a teacup shared with you. Pen and paper and photons and electrons are inadequate to describe my own feelings, so I feel empathy and sympathy with you. But that the universe is not suitable to adequately describe my feelings for you no matter how many pens and paper, electrons and photons it should contain, for it is not the amount that I would use to describe; it is most definitely the content - the qualia. These feelings that you seem to share.

And creations of still more universes could only be for the purpose of sharing them with you. That we should end the struggle to contain ourselves...

When I talk of your warm breath and sparkling eyes I do not do so in any way to lessen the effect the rest of your person and character has upon me. And you speak of my kiss when my kiss could not be generated in isolation of another set of lips to press against, gently touching, exploring, arousing. Would that I have my hand on your waist, it would still not be close enough, but I would be overjoyed to be in this presence.

Blushing, I continued through your letter and description of my skin against yours and my lips against your neck until they again met your own. Please know that I yearn for your neck to place my lips against and that your lips would yield to me on meeting is a sensory experience not easily described. That there may be more moments like these also draw my attention when you are not near, indeed, even when you are.

Yet, my concern here rests with two sets of anticipation-charged lips that on drawing together feels that same rush of charged particles, something more than our individual selves. Closer, and closer until the static arcs from lip to lip; a shared tingle; an anticipation by skin conductance of the very thing it has been craving to conduct - the feeling of our lips touching. But I ask you, how could such  things be indulgent if both parties are willing to indulge? Could it not better be described as inevitable, given the chemistry lesson we have before us?

Before I move on, also know that you have made me aware once again of anticipation in many things.

Although I am not happy that I cause you distraction, there is a part of my ego that is glad that my person and character can distract at least as much as yours has distracted me. Languid, I have lingered with your voice, remembered your caress, visualised your eyes and swooned at your self in my own world while engaged with the wider one.

I have already described my first and last thoughts are of you, but perhaps I was not clear that these are also the beginning and the end as there is no halt in thinking of you throughout the day. I admit, sometimes I am able to compartmentalise and provide more focus to a task or person, but the leap is like moving from telegraph to stone tablets, or 3D television to black and white silent projectors; the colour, the depth, the context are all missing.

That you would suggest such a remedy is pleasing and the remedy itself is attractive, as I have also considered such a remedy. That I could reach out and touch you whenever I desired and allow you to do likewise; that the darkness could be shared with a pair of beating hearts is almost overwhelming. We have spoken of quiver... are you sure this has nothing to do with any other arrow reference?

Magic is a good word. Magic can be nurtured and sustained; it can be grown. It can also be shared to create. I am of the opinion, and humbly, please correct me if I am wrong, that magic cannot be created in isolation, except perhaps for those wizened mountain monk-types (of which I have not been one in some time and do not intend to return just yet).

How could I not accept such a challenge, when the prize was shining before me? And please be aware, as you are a modern woman, that I use these terms not to describe ownership or trade value, but to describe the feelings around a prize; the excitement, the relief, the adrenalin, the surprise and right-ness in varying quantities. Further, as a modern man, I could not ignore that this feeling of challenge and prize should be shared with you - again, not in terms of ownership, but in terms of accidentally tripping over a completely unknown universe for us to explore together! What a shining prize!

I am sure there are many things that we can help each other to know about both in terms of ourselves and each other and about the universe (or universes) we come across. I would be a man to match the glorious woman you are; to inspire and be inspired; to fascinate and be fascinated; to feel like ourselves and yet making up something larger than ourselves.

That we could explore this until the sun exploded, providing the climax to the fireworks building in my chest; this time would still not be enough.

I look forward to holding you and kissing you before moonlight next touches my skin.

In humility, YYYY.