Small snips of sensuality can, in their way, exceed beyond reason the measure of their moment. A fingertip along one's jawline. The brush of lips to the back of a hand. A just-voiced breath arriving on the delicate involutions of an ear.
That which is simple, and small -- but perfect -- can linger, and linger, and linger. Not fading, but engorging itself heatedly in our memory.
A precious, fleeting touch immortalizes the instant of its tenure, deranging every sense of proportion and recalling itself to the forefront of conscious thought until another, larger, longer, encompassing contact can blot it out with ecstasy.
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