This small window of opportunity.
A brisk period of time to dust love off and let it shine.
Vows of devotion…a bit brutish and unkind.
I can only deem my love’s memory as, savory with age.
It may sway through a realm of bold bouts, heart-shaped and reticent.
Yet, land in the middle.
Such as the inside of a prized candy, lasting and consistent.
These are the thick of things.
Not flowered in always or forever.
But tenderness in the here and now.
My love does not linger on slippery slopes of what is to come.
My love does not lay in what was.
My love, an organic rhythm.
A divine comedy.
A divine tragedy.
And, the symphony between.