“All the wonders of morning rain.”

She spoke as if no one else was there. Just her and the unrelenting droplets.

With those words, she stirred the very air into mystic splendor. An invocation for the damp particles to encompass her perfect form and whisk her off to some distant place. A place where Grandeur grasps you tight like the warm, huddled greeting of a friend in scarce reunion.

But she wasn’t alone. I was there.

Our hands were clasped as we wandered the empty streets, until she was swept up in the three a.m. majesty. She floated to the bridge railing with untempered grace, a brilliant incandescence reflecting off her saturated skin. The sea of city lights greets their queen–my queen–with uproarious gleam, and the rain divulges that celebrated smile across her face.

It is a festival above my station. A vision of palatial delight, and surely I stand as the intruder.

“All the wonders of morning rain.”

Nearly a whisper, but she knows I catch wind of it. Gentle and dynamic. Acclaimed, yet non-performative. It is her call to vacant horizon with only one to listen. Only one, and she knows it.

My vision blurs. I cannot be deserving of such entrancement, but like daybreak’s breeze to drowning lungs, I breathe in for dear life.

Our eyes meet before our lips do.

Warmth.

Flickers.

Rain.

We pull away to observe the scene, but there is no blame to lay, no quarrel to settle. No one to vouch for the leap of faith. There are only the lights that hold us aloft.

Warmth. Flickers. Rain. Warmth. Flickers. Rain.

We hold the moment like keys to the kingdom, like land-laid claims of myriad tomorrows. For if life can glimpse infinity in such ardent vestiges, then . . .

. . . perhaps it can hold us amidst vivid glimmers until time loops back again, and shadows step forth to disclose their hushed addendum.

///

"Enchanting" can’t describe it.

"Perceptive" doesn’t capture it.

"Beautiful" can only hope to retain it.

Phonetics—of this Time or the next—do no justice for description.

But if I must settle and attempt to narrowly arrive at the cadence of your heartspell:

“You, my dear, are fire untamed from heavens above.
Astral thickets through eons of cosmos.
Glowing breezes in secret twilight.

You are not obtained. I am only gifted with your mythic reception.

A pleasant descent returns me to the surface, here within your gaze’s vicinity. The warmest hearth in whitest winter.”

More words? I can spare the time no longer, for it is the currency I expend for worthiness in your eyes. Like mist pluming on the horizon, age curls the mountains into tiny stones, and I vow that we will live to see past the dust.

///