Torchlight
Burgundy and scented candles
dinner at eight
pacing with clammy hands
she is running late.
She usually does
arriving bathed in candlelight
always the muse
capturing the essence of night.
I let her sip from my glass
the wine was for me
the room becomes a spinning world
of forests, castles, clifftops and restless sea.
Promises are spoken like shooting stars
falling to earth upon our lips as kisses
romance by scent and touch brings such wonder
like a verb dancing in the center of a noun.
Some nights I have this dream
that she writes of me in prose
sitting on her bed with writer's hands
on pages on which the torchlight glows.
Perhaps next time we'll picnic in a park
even if it's a moonless night
I'll bring a glass jar full of lightening bugs
to provide us with a romantic torchlight...
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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