She wanted to take him to see a
Work of art that was much too large
To fit inside of a gallery;
The view from a green bridge,
The river down below.
He was afraid of heights and would not look down, but
They walked hand in hand and his warm pulse helped her understand
That the way to frame such a masterpiece, was to
Make it into a memory.
And even though they walk this bridge many a time together,
This particular drizzly sort of night springs to mind, as
It was then she realised that the orange sky,
Reflected upon stained glass windows,
Pleased the eye.
And so she remembers how the grease in the spattering rain and the filth in the glowing waters
Were eclipsed by the light of her Love.
He had in his possession a smile of which he gave to her with great passion, and with this
She forgot about City Disparity- in her fashion.
With dewy lashes, bold in youth, did he
Paint stars across a purple, ashen sky-
The same that never fade in memory-
And so she remembers
The oils they extracted from the river,
Below the heights they were reaching,
And how they let linger Euphoria in mixing and pressing,
So that this feeling could last
Forever.
