We did stay too long, but no one seemed to mind.
That’s what happens when the present is a gift.
I said yes.
He asked again.
And it didn’t seem to bother him that it was raining.
I love Nature.
I love Poetry too.
Everything I hear is Poetry.
Some is good.
Some is bad.
Some is annoying.
Some is as sweet as the smells of cinnamon & vanilla illuminating our meditations.
Most don’t mind the Flame.
It helps to romanticize the reality of Love and Politics.
His words are Nice.
And he doesn’t seem to mind my stories.
or my Smile.
It’s spiritually sound and I Never hide behind it.
Sometimes I do. Because I’m imperfect. And he’s intrigued by that.
Intertwining the salt & pepper strands of his Wisdom with the glow of my eternal overstanding… we Celebrate as one.
He likes it better that way.
I do too.
He compliments my cynicism.
I refine his vulnerability.
And none of us cared that daylight was breaking.
We were engulfed in the Euphoria of each other’s energy.
I was thankful.
He played in my hair.
I rubbed his leg.
We let silent lips and bursting hearts repeat our promises to each other.
I didn’t mind much at all about my rain-soaked dress.
Because I had just been reborn lovingly in his eyes.