I feel the chill of a cool autumn morning and the warmth of her hand in mine. We cuddle and kiss while walking by the lake as we talk of dreams. I see a twinkle in her eye as she ponders a name for a passing cloud as though for the child still to know the comfort of her womb.
The house in the country with white picket fence. Rocking chairs on the porch and golden years to come. A thousand lives we have lived through dreams. And always the twinkle in her eye.
A picnic for breakfast then we gaze at the blue while she whispers... whispering although no one else is near, except other lovers, perhaps, from another time.
for the dreams of lovers –
a songbird sings