"I'm restless, I think I'll go for a walk."

And so, you visited Ephesus,
on the ancient coast of Ionia,
browsing books in the Library of Celsus.

You wandered through
large ionic columns in Jerash,
the chariot marks of
the Oval Forum and Cardo
visible at your feet.

You then climbed Mount Alban
to the rise of its 2,200 terraces,
“Grand Plaza” shadowed from the sun,
where the ritualistic games
often meant death.

"How was your walk?"
I asked upon your return.

"Substantial," you said
falling back into bed.
"But not as tangible
as my life with you."

Glass divides
where the heart does not,
come inside,
sit beside me
in annex to this fledgling love,
spurn the sun,
in lieu of its warmth,
for the charm of
an intimate hideaway,
sweet somethings
I shall whisper into your ear,
until inner vibrations
have reached your core,
the view from here
speaks of gardens,
fountains, and holy ground,
I give them all to you
as trousseau,
so long as you agree
to dwell with me,
within a niche
of the imperishable lustre,
togetherness.