Rain patters lightly out the window behind us,
The transparent white curtains,
A dark rug,
Filled with little vines of dark yellows, reds, and greens,
So soft, and so familiar,
Pillows up against the wall by the window,
Pillows off to the right by the wall,
All different;
Save for two.
These two pillows,
The memories they store,
This could be a thing of lore,
Or a thing of bore.
Sequins of ruby on one side,
Sequins of sapphire on the other,
Constantly, some are scattered on the opposite side,
Done by one so mischievous,
Done by one so magnificent,
One whom I hold dear,
Whom I shall never reveal.
We sit there, in this corner,
Under the window,
Rain pattering outside,
Soothing, and familiar,
The scent of them, faint but there,
Soothing and familiar as well.
Sitting so closely,
The light dim,
We smile and simply enjoy the moment,
A moment thought only to be of fantasy,
Yet here we are,
In this moment shared,
So generously spared.
There we were,
Soon there again we shall be,
Not soon, but in time,
Returning to that place again,
Beneath that window,
Those curtains,
The pillows and rug,
The many different,
And the two alike,
Them always messing them up,
Irritating me, yet satisfying me,
Making me thus content.
- Jay M
March 22nd, 2019
