I remember the honeysuckle sweet smell of our pillow whispering slumber melodies ever and on, languid dizzy nightdreaming tangled skin weaving, an ocean of upswelling pheremone fountains and peeling paint in new places at night.  Road trip car naps early morning frosted sunrise, red cotton dresses and lover's spit.  Fever wrapped and unfolding together, the taste of metal in my mouth biking home at dawn.  The first time, back in your parents' living room and hands held all of my feelings flow as a sweet confession; birthday dinner wine stains and I had to choose you and I was down on one knee, choosing; it was so long ago like yesterday I was taken into the ladies circle while your attendants made flowers in my hair and the world still smelled of your cotton curling heart shape.  How delicate and loving and waiting you were while I shed held tears and sprouted my worth under your leading hand and oh yes the staring contests I could always win because I had a secret and you wouldn't believe me when I told you but later we felt our hearts beating and it was not romantic but simply very real and wonderful.

God!  What beautiful dreams for a poor boy, mercifully wrapped in goddess' glorious manifest manifold.  May ever she sweep me up again, ashen and aching for a soft place to land.