Steadfast Honeysuckle

They fell in love, through the doorway of the eyes, as their souls communed. Silently, they speak in the language of soul and spirit. Glimpses of this cadence, seen and heard in the plaintive hum and lamentation of bow pulled across strings, then pushed across to ground us in this world again. Soft drops of cool Summer rain drip from the clouds above, playing the land like a piano. Tender, swollen lips meet no resistance. Each kiss wet with the slow, heavenly waterfall. Their passions stir, eyes, lips, hands caressing body and soul. Their tight embrace is not nearly close enough. They long, yearn, to become one, to complete the soul puzzle. A warm wind picks up, pushing the rain sideways. Somewhere a lever is pulled with great strength and the skies open. The rain pounds now with the force of great war drums, forcing the tall green blades of grass to bow down in adoration. As if they too were grass, knees weaken with need. They fall gently to the earth still in each others arms. A frenzied feeding to match the rhythm of rain, on lips, tongue, and burning skin. Thunder sounds, so close. A brilliant flash of lightening turns everything into a negative. As if God was preserving this moment of purity with a photo. Oh, how they fell in love! Rising, rising, reaching, giving themselves fully to the other. They become one. Singular in heart, body, and mind. Bliss and peace was their youthful playground until they were cruelly separated by duty. Him, taken away, so far away, to protect family and freedom. Anticipation became an addiction sustaining them…wishes, prayers, hope, and always love. Pleasure anticipated but never realized builds walls of bitterness and anger. She, a prisoner, her sorrows so consuming the air became thick with its black smoke of grief. She couldn't breathe. Some say she wasted away, others that her heart just broke into a million pieces. Now, they lie together in the field of tall grass where they first held each other in love's embrace. A large pink honeysuckle grows there, the curving trunk rising up in an embrace resembling the two young lovers. The image made by a flash of lightning so long ago, and displayed with righteous pride. Never losing its pink and white blossom through every season and storm, it remains steadfast as its roots gain nourishment in the soil of true love.