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Feb 2012
We will walk through the Cherry blossoms
in Japan, hand in hand, meandering through
the falling petals.  Our winding path
will weave through the countryside  with
no goal in sight.  We will stop in front of a
particularly beautiful tree, whose branches
are just beginning to look naked.

I will look at you, brush a stray blossom
from your hair...and whisper

           Aishiteru
               .                                                                ­                   
                   .                                                                ­                
                     .   .                                                                ­            
                               .                                                                ­          
                                     .                                                                ­        
                              We trek the Arctic circle and witness
                              the absolute beauty of the Aurora Borealis.            
                              We're be bundled tightly in our parkas,
                              but we are still be able to feel eachother's
                             warmth.  We laugh as we throw snowballs.
                             We lie in the snow and make angels.                          
                             Well...they'll start out as angels, but in the              
                            end, they'll just look like snow that two people        
                            have just rolled around in.                                    
                         ­                                                                 ­      
                           We can't help it.  As we embrace,                             
                           ­                   I whisper
                                                     Negligevapse                                 
                   ­                                      .                                          
                     ­                                     .                           ­             
                                                          .     ­                                   
                                                         .                                          
                     ­                                   .                             ­             
                                                     .                                            
                   ­                              .                                                  
             ­                              .                                                        
       ­                                                                 ­                          
         We stroll the beaches of Hawaii, refreshing ocean               
         breezes cool us.  I picked you a flower,
         which you now wear in your hair.  Your cinnamon              
         brown skin offsets your beautiful white smile.                     
         We run through the breaking waves, our feet                        
         leaving ephemeral indentations that are as                           
         fleeting as our cares.  We fall over into                                    
         the surf and let the ocean wash over us.                                        
                     ­                                                                 ­            
              I kiss your nose and tell you                                               
              ­        Aloha wau ia oi                                                            
  ­                            .                                    ­                                
                                ­  .                     In China, we race eachother along   
                                     .              .   the Great Wall to see who can get 
                                        .          .    to the end first.  We both end up   
                                           .   .       dragging eachother across the         
                                                    ­ finish line...which happens to be      
                                                  a few hundred feet away.          
                                               Th­e locals shake their                
                                           ­  heads disaprovingly, as we stifle      
                                             a giggle.  I lean in and remind you  
                                                           ­                                       
                         ­                                                  Wo ai ni..                    
                                                             .  .                      .            
                         ­                                 .       .                     .          
                                                       .            .                   .          
                                                     .               .                 .            
                                                   .                  .   .   .   .  .            
                                                 .                                                
               ­                In Soviet Russia, girl kiss you               
                               and I gladly let her, for she                       
                               and I have had one too many shots                  
                               of *****.  Our faces are rosy and                       
                               we lean into each other as our feet                    
                               make hard noises on the cobblestone                
                               streets.  Saint Basil's Cathedral                         
                              ­ looms over us, as our lips dance                       
                               a familiar dance.                                          
                ­                                                                 ­                 
                                          Ya tebya liubliu                                  
                       ­                          .                                                
                                                 .                                                
            .  .  .  .                          .               ­                                   
         .             .                      .                                         ­           
       .                .                   .                                                      
      .                    .  .  .  .  .  .                                                 ­       
    .                                                           ­                                   
We gaze at the Taj Mahal, a building                                              
built for a man's true love. I would                                                  
build you a city.  we take in the                                                            
mighty majesty of Everest.  I tell                                                      
you I'd climb it for you.  You tell                                                           
me to stop being silly, and say
you'd get bored waiting for me.
I give you a back rub instead.                                            

  Hum Tumhe Pyar Karte hae 
      .
        .
         .                                      We travel the dutch  countryside
           .                                  ­  and kick off our wooden shoes to
              .     .                           watch the tulips blooming.
                       .                 .     I dedicate an entire field to you.
                          .         .         You blush.
                              .   .         we fall asleep in front of a windmill,
                                           watching the shapes of the clouds pass
                                              over us. I whisper in your ear
                                                             ­                                                         
       ­                                                                I­k hou van jou
                                                             ­             .                        
                                                                ­         .                          
                                     ­                                  .                            
                                   ­                                  .                              
                                 ­                                  .                                
                               ­                                  .                                  
                             ­            .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .                                           ­ 
    France has never been as beautiful as                                                 
    it is now that you're here.  We skirt                                                  
    the cities and explore the countryside,                                            
    Endl­ess fields and clear skies bring                                                   
    out our inner children, and spend the day
    romping and rolling until our clothes                                         
    are stained and our muscles ache.  I                                                    
    ­lay beside you, panting.  In between                                         
    breaths, I manage to impart                                                          
­                                                                 ­                                           
               Je t'aime                                                           ­                      
                   .                                                                ­                        
                    .                                           ­                                             
                   ­   .                                                             ­                         
                        .              ­                                                                 ­     
                          .  .  .    .    .       .          .                                                    
                                                                ­                                            
                    ­                   We explore Roman ruins and concoct      
                                       our own love story had we been born     
                                       in the Ancient city.  I would have        
                                       been a mighty General, who saved      
                                       you from a terrible dicator.  You            
                                       ­tell me to stop quoting Gladiator.       
                                       We share a kiss under the shadow           
                                       of the colosseum.  I brush your         
                                       hair from your face...                       
                                  ­                                                                 ­       
                                                         ­                  Ti Amo                              
                                                                ­               .                          
                                                                ­                                          
                      ­                                                        .        ­                    
                                            ­                                                              
  ­                                                                 ­        .                              
                                                                ­                                          
                      ­                                                                 ­                   
                                             ­                           .                                  
  ­                                                                 ­                                       
                         ­                                                                 ­                
                                                ­                    .                                      
     ­                                                                 ­                                    
                            ­           You smile and reply                                   
                        ­                                                                 ­                 
                                               ­             I love you, too
Feeling hopelessly romantic today.
JA Doetsch
Written by
JA Doetsch  40/M/St. Louis, MO
(40/M/St. Louis, MO)   
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