Somehow, I couldn't speak. Her smile opened the door every morning.
But this morning, it was her heart. That beating temple she sealed way
in a steel envelope, unready for adjustments, unwilling. But it was I,
who opened the mailbox with gentleness, simpleness. She gave in.

It was a swing, by the riverbank, where the lost creatures roamed.
We sat, and talked as if there was no world around us. Just hope,
crisp, in the wind, like dandelion hair. The racing water, running senseless,
up the shore. I saw a moment in her nourishing grin. A heaven without

clouds. A shoeless retreat, where her hand and mine were magnets.
This was love, unexplained. A portrait of fire, framed with white roses,
and the smell of aged wine. The minutes silently added more
to us. An uncharted evolution, of how things begin and where they go

when they end. It was reality that pulled her hand within a reachable
reach. It was her freedom that she as willing to pay for, that bought
these miles between us. It was a sudden **** that brought me back
into this quiet life, this tainted demise of a broken light. It was funny,

seeing her,     again.