There are curtains in my living room which lift and fall gracefully as I pull the string each day; for the rise and fall of each season and each day in between- are punctuations for my life with you.
Like my skirts they lifted first and fell on our wedding bed, on our wedding night- gracefully on special nights; and in the days and years thereafter they, too, rose to the realities of married life; curtains fell in times of strife.
I cannot each time draw the string and but marvel at morning light; and how night falls so regularly.
This regularity is comforting to me; I dust my curtains worn with years -not often enough- uplift them for the view of the garden and you coming home over the back fence taking the short cut. I draw them each time anticipating that magically in doing so you, too, are drawn home to my bosom each day. Watch as I draw this string. You'll see. You were there.
You were my Only; the One My Heart clamored down from its dusty shelves overjoyed ringing true for you.
My dollies folded; I saw deep pools in your eyes and swam there ushering up huge helpings of my soul.
I was Metaphor, Noun, and Simile for you; lifted my soul skirts; stood naked before you-whipped up joyful tear soups- blessed everything you touched and anvil stamped your spirit to my eyelids. Yes, it was love. and I think love itself loved you. I know Love told me it was true .
Sitting quietly with you floated my soul.
In time you became for me, too, the Dark Kiss; dark delight; I became scattered vanilla.
In crowded meetings my eyes centered on you, jealous excitement rearing. I took your Dark into my rooms even when you were not there, enjoyed the vision of you all to my self, into my clandestine rendezvouses, where more and more frequently, you became the sweet I could not have.
My world and your world met less. You became forbidden to me.
I swallowed all your kisses. You became fantasy inhabiting only my world where my longing for you became perfect, you became perfect, haunting me.
Your kiss became the Winter Kiss and I the Winter Flower, the opposite of Summer blooms.
My flowers peaked in deep snow and weathered hail, sleet and angry gale.
My Summer Kin know the Sun. I live beneath White Winter's Glow withstand blizzard wind as furies blow.
I produce anti-cold; survive winter's frozen mold.
My petals are steel-forged for winter has made me strong.
My bulbs force their way up through frozen ground and defiant I face the worst Winter onslaughts. My petals fold and unfold; peak, and stare winter down. I am the Winter Flower beautiful in my Ice Tower. I too, have my Ice Prince who plants upon me Icicle Kisses; beneath diamond, shining, beautiful, frosty, wintry stars.
You are a master of romantic writing. Many delicious thoughts are conjured up in your words here. However, I don't see any real significance in all of the capitol letters. But, perhaps you do, and that is enough.
I have taken pride in writing this novel as so many people have the wrong impression on bikers because they dress in leather clothing which is to protect themselves in case of an accident. The majority of bikers are known Policemen, Firemen, Doctors,
She was quite capable of taking care of herself...She appreciated everything he was doing for her and the Grandmothers Four, but she needed his help, not for him to take over.
