On other nights the wind that dances on the sand, swirls with touch that raises skin to reaction becomes a delicate prickle of sensation, and moves us to move with it in languid turns. On other nights, but not this night. This night. This wind different than the others. Than all the others. Than any other.
On other nights, the humid hanging wait for other dawns, is livid in us, and languid on us. Our joints hang loose and we are florid flow with the tides of old desires. On other nights, but not this night. This air different than the others. Than all the others. Than any other.
On other nights, the darkness enfolds us, as I enfold you. It takes us in, as I take in you. It wraps around us, as I wrap around you. On other nights, but not this night. This night different from all the others from the beginning until now. That now that enfolds us is not the others. Than any other.
On other nights, we are moved by the rocking of the world, the turning silent and alone, in cold and bitter space. We are bound in our turns as the earth is bound in silent sweep of equal areas in equal times. The triangle that it makes is my triangle. Kepler's laws guide us in our flight. On other nights, but not this night, which, I sigh, is different from all the others.
On this night the warmth is not from without but within. On this night the flowering rush of water is not from the air, but from within us. On this night the breathes we take and give are the wind that torrents over every curve of my geography, and pushes through my skin and carries of my soul. On this night it is not forces that impel, but we who will move the world and make a new creation.
On this night, different from all other nights, we are not the wave that crests and washes forgotten on the shore, but the tide that pours in. Your tide pours into me, and says to my aching want: "Let it be."
Let it be my love, let it be. Let new life begin on this sand caressed island, let it be. And this will be the rising of a new sun, from this place, it was begun. This from first moment was our conception, to conceive and provide reception. This time, different from last time, and all other times until now.
I set a side the clasped shell that I carried as protection, and let it slide from my fingers tips to be carried away by the foam and lost.
On this night, this night, different from all other nights. From any other night.
By the time there is morning dew, our bond will be rebound, and made utterly new.
Let it be my love, let it be.