Last summer
the fields near your house
were covered in butterflies
from the sky
to
the floor,
as the flutter of my excitment was
at your door.

Things start in different ways,
sometimes soft and faint
hardly rippling
still
but
gentle
with glorious intent.
Or, instantly sudden,
sodden in anew,
caught in the unstoppable
thrall
of quickening season,
fast and swift
with love the reason.

Holding our us is like being in a wonderful clearing that knows fantastic talking hearing,

and,

no contemplation of

division,

as every decision is flowing with the see of 20/20 vision;

senses heightened with perfect precision.

You do look a little bit older
than you used to

these days;

your youthful visage
a tad thumbed by turning many page:

but despite the so called age process
you still simply merry everything with the fantastic of elan:
oh what a guy,
oh, what a man!

When you sit & nonchalantly beam
it is such an enchanted scene;
oh you,
you'd turn a grey sky walk into a sunshine mile,
with your here,
with your smile.

Don't let
season skipping signs that say
it's autumn
deter your warm from being here,
you always very welcome
what's left
of the summer
of this year.

When you get off a train I'm happy,
that's because it usually means you're a step closer to me;
your near proximity improves my all,
my string theory
and my ABC.
Just your foot on a platform means I understand more of the air,
as you're a further tad towards me,
making the best of my everywhere.