I envy them, him, their love has a pureness seen only in the final pages of old dusty fairytale books, each kiss I believe renders them immortal, spells dispersed and magic created in the enchanted presence of such a love as theirs.
Such a simple existence, a moments kiss and passion fills their auras spilling outward, exploding into the melancholy day and yet, a kiss filled with so much desire and not an iota of indecency, as though they are God’s angels, as though their love is blessed by the heavens and coveted in white feathers. They speak with their eyes, knowing glances that say, ‘ill be back soon my love, but in these seconds without you, know only this, I exist for you, for you.’ I envy them, him, her, I envy them.
This is an observational poem on a couple I see almost daily, in the latter part of their lives now they still love each other with a pure depth, she stands at the gate waving till he’s at the end of the road, where he gives her one last wave before he turns the corner… It’s a beautiful thing to watch.
I open a window and sit huddled in front of it. The morning air is humid, freshly fallen rain adds a twist of freshness that travels across the beaks of birds in song. Beneath grey clouds I listen to the orchestra and wonder whether mother nature or the universe is their conductor. Heavy cars are sporadically spilling up the road, tires dragging through the puddles, engines disturbing the music. Then silence erupts but for the whistling lovers that sit up in the trees. Their song washes over me as the rain begins to fall cleansing the start of another day.