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... ~ ~ ~ ~ ~