She’s quiet, but there’s a flow
of unvoiced thoughts, her glow
has warmth of color, they blend in,
like the bows after the rain.
She smells pure
like the dews of the morning grass
her presence, her lure
seen a gerber in a vase?
She smacks his forehead
might hurt — glad it’s a sign
that she trusts his word
as they toast Mumm Cordon.
But: like a gazelle, she’s ahead,
in a jungle, as the lion pursues
she finds a cave, is almost dead,
she sees that he sees her virtues.
In a world where happiness is rare,
where pretense is the new care
she loves as he lays bare
his truths, nothing more to share.
Refreshing is the breath of the spring,
when awash in the warmth of the sun,
their shadows are proportional, they grin,
their creating memories, moments of fun.
Now she isn’t quiet
her words sound right
she sees that he sees her,
gives him permission, her.