I trace the edge of the door with my jittery finger. I'm wondering whether to push it slightly and enter or whether to draw back and close it softly. What right do I have to know what goes behind closed doors? Am I a voyeur? No, I'm just neurotic. So I stand at the door - quietly with my head bowed down.

If there's a thought fox, couldn't there be a thought room?

your eyes open as softly as buds open into flowers at dawn...it is dawn...consciousness comes tapping your senses...the warm shoulder that your chin rests upon...the hands that tuck the stray strands of your hair behind your ear...the fingers which trace your lips and pry your chin down a little...the lips that envelope and caress yours...

your eyes open as softly as buds open into flowers at dawn...it is dawn...it is also a dream...dreams end, desires don't...

the longest streets, desire that never ends - thom gunn