A perfect evening

Your-eye-blue contemplative sky;
soft focus on the lazy way
once-brushed day-end clouds flow
effortlessly, like your hair
around the warm, welcome home
of another perfect evening.

Your face is in this moment
looking into me, and smiling;
looking out from me, and redefining
every plant and stone.

Time flowing like the clouds,
reflected in the river
passing slowly, this evening;
fading gently, this evening;
speaking softly, this evening;
uniquely, this evening;
as always, this evening.

I am floating, this evening,
on the eddies;
on the whispers;
on the ripples;
on the darkness,
and the mystery
of your love.


I should have grown out of romanticism a long time ago, I sometimes think. But I didn’t. A friend of mine told me this week that love matures through romance (and maybe vice versa too?). This poem is for her.