Typical of he in love should begin to first describe the one he loves. Oh young man, how lost you are in dreams. The World in reality will reflect badly on you when it does begin to rest its heavy head on your shoulders;

He in Love:

Her skin; like the fringes of buttercup petals strewn with yew drops of the afore night yet to be lapped up with the heat of sun from the rising dawn.

Her hair; its individual strands as detailed as a spiders delicate web,spun like the finest of silks to veil thy Adonis head and kiss you sweetly across thy brow.

Entranced in thy own thoughts that one might assume it is the world that revolves around you, and the universe guided by our destiny that may shatter should we part? Or is it the departure of our souls that compel the forces to work even more feverently that we may remain together? In such a way lies the delicate balance of all things.

Then tip-toe with me across the stars so that we may be in time for every sunset, with every sunrise still, nipping at our heels as we flit across the sky in its twilight hours.

Alas, the World in reality, it turns, it turns. And carries everything along with it, a spinning orb of perpetual motion, pushing us forward.

“Onwards” it says to us; “one must not dwell in the past”. And we stick our heels into the ground, resisting its push, time itself weighing on our shoulders. Holding onto a moment that would otherwise pass us by.

Our heels dig deep into the soil, departure is nigh. Imminent. Inevitable. We both know this, and when my strength seems to fail me and i feel myself being pushed forward with times tide, upon a warm breath carries the words i whisper into thy rose petal ears;

“Have faith love, in love, that i will return with the new days moon, like the opposite poles of a magnetic field, i will be drawn to you again, this i know”.

And with that i release my grasp, and am whisked away with the tide of stars, visible for only but a second and two-thirds, leaving you, alone as the suns swells up to a new dawn.

Till we meet again.