A heart full of love, she sings towards the one who will take it.
And he beams in return,
ready to receive and thrilled to be able.
Empty and dark are the two hearts,
Devoid of warmth towards each other.
With limited reserves, depleted so,
They cannot even gift to themselves.
A heart full of love. Bursting and desperate,
Overflowing with energy.
As the bubbles erratically rise in a flute to dissipate on the surface,
So does this love.
And when it reaches the surface it is felt like the winters fire on a snowy day,
Or the ginger in your tea,
Warming you from your mouth to your toes.
But the other heart is locked.
This bloody, beating, core of muscle neither receives nor gives.
It wants to, oh it does want, and one day it will.
But not to you.
Never to you.
The balance is wrong, he’s a butterfly on a pair of scales,
And I’m simply a cloud. Full of bubbles, energy, dreams and adoration, and above all love. Which makes it heavy, providing the momentum to lift the other. Enabling them to take off.
The effortless dance of them.
The smiles she never thought would return,
And the feeling.
The feeling buried so deep like an ember in a hearth,
Which is stoked and grows with each kiss, each embrace,
Each moment you reach for her in the night.
The warm evenings around Bilbao,
the lingering heat of the evening sun matched with the wine.
But mostly his presence,
his calming words.
And a happiness she’d never felt before.
It was always late,
If she was back in the cold she’d be asleep:
Under the covers, just as she was in the heat of the midday sun,
Hours before as he lay her down to rest.
But nothing was better;
being out in the midnight mild, before
Being in bed once again,
‘I love you’ he said, and her heart almost floated away.
It was beautiful,
The effortless dance of us.
Or so I thought.