The Poet Who Fell in Love

It’s taken us a long time to get here.
And I’m scared it will take me longer to get back.
Your arm sways at my side like a rusty swing.
Our fingers touch but can’t seem to attach.
They’re embarrassed I suppose.
You ask me what I’m thinking.
I reply that I’m wondering why people
Feel the need to use quite in sentences.
I find it insults the adjectives.
You laugh. That hearty, musical laugh.
Just hearing it again makes me even happier
Than when I used poignant in the correct context.
I could never tell you that every poem
Was about you. That every emotion was documented
For others to read. As they would be doing now.
We settle in the meadow.
You look even more beautiful with your face
Framed in lavender. And the long grass dances,
Praising your perfection.
You tell me I’m a cynic. Everybody’s a cynic
When it comes to love.
Then every cynic turns out to be a hypocrite.
They all end up at fortieth wedding anniversaries.
The kiss was a flash, like a heron’s bill into water.
But still it made me smile,
Wondering if we’ll reach our fortieth.