I sleep soundly
With him beside me
Almost every night
We hold each other tight
There's nothing that I lack
I know he has my back
He is so generous
God has a plan for us
It's a beautiful thing
When he talks about a ring
Calls me his spouse
Wants to buy me a house
This is perfect, this is rare
He's my soulmate, this I swear
Our love is strong
It's based off our bond
A best friendship
Evolved into
A dream relationship
Thank you God
For such a blessing

And it was the first time,
that kiss, that Christmas.

You and she were walking
just behind the other members
of the church choir, carol singing,
the parson, conducting the members,
he in overcoat, hat on, scarf
against the cold, the evening air.

And she said, softly, so only
you could hear, softer than
the snow that threatened to fall,
I think I love you.

You, looking at her there,
standing inches away,
her breath high-lighted
in the light of moon
and the houses near by,
said, I love you, too.  

Words, spread, as if
on free rein, like little children
off on some adventure,
some new game,
came quick and fast.

Then, she leaned in,
and kissed your lips,
pressed them so gently
on yours. So gently
that it seemed they met
yet seemed not to
in same breath.

You embraced her,
arms about her,
drawing her nearer,
her body, into yours,
warmth and warmth,
like two planets colliding,
not in crash, but as if
merged, entwined, as if one.

The sound of some carol
being sang breathed
on the air, floated there,
held in balance
by the gentle wind.

You and she parted lips
and bodies, but held hands,
a new love had been born,
a new fire started, feeling
erupted along the strings
of nerves, set mind on fire
with a new, unknown, never
before experienced,
out of this world desire.

Now we are past the age
where fireworks make sense, when,
colours and sparkles mesmerize.

Let us sit down, friend,
and reminisce the wonder nights:
when the moon came visiting
and stood silent by the palm leaves,
the still leaves sang a song
to the passing winds
to the rhythm of dripping dew.

Everything is finished in a moment
here, like the sparkle-***.

Ages pass before we see,
the whirl that follows
in the wake of the Catherine-wheel
of time is in our eye.

Yet a night comes, lit by rows
of joyous lamps, when of long
lost, our soul returns.

That which we sought in objects vain
is forever our own, enshrined
forever behind the throb of sensation
here, is our undefeated kingdom,
closer than the closest.