We were sitting in the park,
well a quiet wooded area,
the sort of romantic interlude
we grew quite fond together,
occasional bird song
she could pick out of the tree,
and I in my ignorance,
would finally see.
I could write a poem about her every day,
I was so in love,
everything I dreamed about returned in words
a sensuality, a certain integrity,
a soft and beautiful woman,
I could worship her being forever.
She once told me she was happy
with my words,
yet this autumn afternoon,
she looked away
when having to reveal,
she no longer understood
my meaning,
I felt it read as
no longer wanting to know.
So now I challenge words alone
to keep me breathing.
© Scott F Savage 4/2020
apersonaljourney - stories of love 