Is it the smell of wet grass
Wafting over an alpine meadow.
The rising sun playing a 
Fleeting tune on the land
Beneath our feet.

Standing still...
Breathing in...
Tasting the crispness
of the air on our tongues,
And that sweet smell of summer.

Is it the things we do together.
The laughter, the pain,
Even the arguments in the rain.
The making up, in front of 
That warm, cosy fire.

The touch of your gossamer like skin,
Creating goosebumps the size of pebbles.
And the warmth of your kisses,
Wetting my appetite, 
On your intoxicating lips.

Is it the beating of my heart
Against your pressing hand,
Or the weight of your breast, in mine. 
Is it me...
Or is it you.

Is it Love.
Is that what's important. 
And what happens when it's gone,
When you're taken from me...Forever...
What then?

Is it the dread...
Is that what makes us cling
To each other, to life,
To our circumstances,
So neatly mapped out before us.

Is it the fact that we don't give up,
Riding out the fear,
Searching for answers,
And hoping they come knocking,
On the ever receding door.

Will someone else find that door?
Will they knock and see if anyone's in. 
And what of them,
How small is their door,
And what of their tale of love.

Is that what's important,
Finding that comfortable person.
The duvet to lie in,
The cushion to cuddle up to,
Another soul to raise the spirits.

Is it us, are we important.
What we think...How we behave...
When we are close or far away.
So many memories of tenderness and love,
And laughter and light.

I think it's you.
You're important...To me...
I need you to be there,
For me, with me, 
Forever.