You say.

You say.

You say your old man is a vision technician, not a window cleaner.

You say I only view life’s raucous demands flowerly and flowerishly.

You say I am a hopeless romantic whose filthy rose-tinted spectacles need a good seeing to.

But when I am with you

bathed in secret satisfactions

I see only summer.

Walks in the park

sumptuous

scrumptious

imaginings

in

the

lamentably

beautiful undergrowth.

Sunshiny high spirits.

Avidity for the luxuriant summer world.

Charging wild waves of

joy.

Natural inducements

Ravishing fragrances

Velvet and Silk dew

Lunar sapphire constellations pulling at your hair.

Those nights

holy temples of our lives

where we noisily perform

devotions and sordid imprecations.

Drops of pearl water

fight

frolicking

mysterious

wafting cloud

thoughts

for quietude.

On unfathomable lakes of pleasure

in glorious technicolour

you glide by

too slow

but too fast

to catch my eye.

Ravishingly

memorable

venerable

summer

is such

a

desired

dancerly

delightful

force.

Sense beguiling tumultuousness

vistas of beauty and intensity

gleaming intoxication.

Orchards filled with reveries and fancies of the soul.

When lovers dance revolutions are made.

A secret is opened.

Everything changes

moves

revolves.

Time marches on.

Children grow.

Angels vanish.

Loving, loving, and loving,

and

leaving.

To be enfolded by the night and you

is all that truly matters.

Varieties of betrayal cease to trouble those who are true for eternity.

Unkind words

remain

unsaid.

There are no arguments

about

dirty dishes

or laundry.

Unabated by infirmity

halcyon days

of

sex

cake

tea

breadmaking

dancing

and poetry continue.

We circle one another

in daily clean sheets

softly

lightly

gently.

Outside

mist steals the first rays of sunlight

and

forests

dream.

Time

comes

as

always.

I tell you how noble, how marvellously beautiful

you are.

Until

I

remember

you

were never there.