Some bridges are for crossing, and some are for Farewells

While walking in the park I stopped along the edge of the stream…
Watching the gentle ripples on the surface coming and going,
The ebb and flow of knowing Love…
Looking over my shoulder I see her…
Slow is her grace, head lowered,
Holding what appeared to be a bouquet of wildflowers,
She approached the walkway of the Bridge and paused…
She seem to look directly at me,
This being the first time I had witnessed the Spring of her Joy,
The Summer in her Passion,
The Autumn of her Wishes,
To the Winters' warmth in her Desires…
From the corner of my eye,
I detect shadow emerge from the shadows across the stream,
It’s cloaked in a mist, confusing my view…
Seemingly the image calls out to her, and she turns…
She glances my way once more,
And walks towards the mysterious figure, and he towards her…
As I rise slowly, watching with a saddening heart…
They embrace at the crown of the Bridge,
Such passion in their Kiss,
That I trembled within
I closed my eyes, and felt the tenderness of her Kiss,
The breeze whispering by my ear, sweet echoes,
My body heating…ignited by her touch…
I open my eyes to see the Heaven within hers…
I turn, and journey on, remembering,
I had guarded her near my heart,
Protected her through the wilderness,
Guided her amid the valleys and canyons,
Over the peaks and summits…
Lived a Lifetime with each moment we shared…
Glad to see, yet, Sad to see…
You’ve found your Love.

True Emotion knows no Gender...the Spirit of One is Of All

Writer’s scribes what's in their heart
as a painter, what he sees,
And the sculptor, what calls out to be free
I envy the artist for whom you would sit, the musician mimicking your whispers, the sculptor the smooth gentle caresses of your curves...
But most of all,
The Man you give yourself to, Willingly, Passionately, Completely.

By

Nazmier