Waiting

We spoke of time and touch, a life when we knew nothing, when our minds flitted through magic and beauty. You took me to a garden of roses and spoke to me in the language of angels. I loved the taste of your innocence. The world was still young, replete with pain and desire. Its wounds were not healed, it longed to know its ever caring guardian, to feel. Saints had written about him long ago, they cautioned, they warned. She tasted blood and mercy. And yet, fate flirted. It touched, he stayed. Fairies may dance and sing, they may draw you to villages, hills and palaces. Life was a strange dream, a wild passion. There was nothing, just a nymph and a centaur, and women watching in disbelief. Of fantasies they saw, of kisses they shared, in wands they believed. Oceans meant little when heavens were with them. Time flung aside nights they shared. It brought rushed goodbyes, ecstasies and elation. Even the stars blushed, so sweet, so perfect it was. Beauty come in its entirety. Stolen moments, secrets, love.