When other couples are growing as pale and familiar as sun-bleached wallpaper we are growing together. Our emotions are an expanding business that exercises new stock options on happiness. A wire, tubular and fat with lovesongs, is strung between our hearts with the excitement of the first telephone on which we coo our communications, well aware that we disgust those of a cynical nature. We fight and pick faults, but every night we clean the saddle of burrs and ride out fresh for daybreak horizons, anxious to be reunited by evening. We have nothing to hide from each other and we never speak without listening. We build a bridge from our dreams that takes us into the future, shaping each unique day with the hands of hope. And still there is room for romance to be romantic.
Copyright Andrew M. Bell. The poet would like to acknowledge Valley Micropress in whose publication this poem first appeared.