Euphoria is born on a lazy Sunday morning,
Wrapped in a blanket, fingers gently grazing
Your collarbone, or combing through messy sleep-hair
As you plant a kiss on my cheek, and whisper
A soft good morning in my ear.
In youth you live a pond life,
Submerged up to your ankles,
Orange fish nibbling at your toes,
Pebbles clear as day just a few inches below
The surface. You pick one up –
A perfectly round pebble.
You smile, and that’s enough.
In a kiss shared over a sparkling skyline,
Where fingers would freeze in moonlight wind,
Your touch is soft, and numbs the sting.
The love we found was a heavenly kind
So I’m convinced you are an angel – mine.
A heart wrapped in hope – a gentle embrace,
Puncturing one root at a time, now a heart encased
In hope – it grows. Implanting dreams of could be
And vision encompassed by a vignette, a keyhole –
Painted on the back of my eyelids is an outstretched hand,
Promise hidden in every second glance, every smile, and
My heart is in the clouds while my feet are on the ground.
If only I could pull them back together somehow –
They surface in quiet moments. Starting small, with a spark,
with a glimpse into something else, a flash of mind,
like a blink going the other way, but they build in an exponential
crescendo and soon I’m stopping every minute to take my gloves off
and write something down because the thoughts just keep coming,
and by the time all the dishes are clean, the bubbles have all disappeared
and the water is only on the verge of being warm.