to look upon her

I need to look upon her. And the thought occurs I can add nothing more. In her, I see my world entire. Past, present, future. And in her, life. From her golden hair to her pale grey eyes with flecks of blue sky. She smiles in the purest form of brow arching and cheek rising. Her skin has aged. I suspect in life more than time. But the eyes, her eyes, remain as they were. Brilliant flawless sapphires. I feel them upon me; mostly when I am not looking. When I catch her unafraid to look, before she looks away, again. Imagination perhaps, but in that moment, less than a second, I see what can't be said. I see the wideness of wonder that belies the passage of time and it is in these singular moments, so fleeting, so flutteringly delicate that I stare without blinking, the muscles of my face released of tension and time itself seems without measure or court or even sense.

The minutes between us flow into hours and the hours blend an afternoon of muted sounds and faded colors along the periphery, everything other, blissfully out of focus. I notice the youthful wet flesh of her lower lip as it presses my thumb, recording my warmth from her held hand. And through it all, she looks with limpid eyes, felicity in the linger, her breath warm. A warmth soon inside me, and I notice the seesawing of our breath, the rhythm found as naturally as sea to cove. There is no effort, no trying, no attempt to do or be and at times, no thought either. Lips simply fall one into the other as diver to ocean, a quiet falling of fate's gravity with nary a splash. And as the ocean torn is healed, so it is when she finds me. And within her, as within the sea, I find a serenity known not on land.