The petty wandering of my eyes across your face draws a rhythm in my heart and a pattern on my mind.

The half-hearted words I utter become the foundation for the symphony I would speak.

The lone flower I planted in my fire-torn fields are now accompanied by forests of color.

These small hours turn to years.

 

My dear, I wait under the stars.

The taught string fastened under my ribs reaches to those heights and ends where you are.

With each day, the sun's eager beams wear upon this infantile bond.

Like the years upon a earnest sailor, she makes this bond enduring.

Like the renewed gaze of the faithful sunrise, each day marks a little more growth.

 

What once was fleeting now brings promise of years to come.

I fear I can hardly look at you without acknowledging the aura of memory.

Memory of a future, reminiscent of a past, hopeful as the present.

My eyes rest on yours and my ears hear whispers long-spend laughter.

The thought takes my heart captive and turns the ends of my lips skyward.

A slow sonnet for a thumping heart.

 

I see the ivy embraced garden gateway before me.

Beyond it, green frolicking flowers and buds.

Perhaps thunderclouds on the distant horizon, but they come with life-giving rain.

My usually pattering feet grow still knowing the time to step away comes near.

My expanding child's heart is called to be taken out and replaced by one within those gates.

I wonder what it's like to have your heart taken?