Love Story

Early on this new day,

not even five am,

and I sit, coffee in hand,

listening as you tap

computer keys.  We have a rhythm —

waking early, sharing our first

kiss, and then inquiring 

how each other slept,

me in my comfy chair

and you at your desk,

our sweet good mornings.  

You tell me you noticed 

a bright moon when you passed 

by the front window; you know 

I’ll want to see, snap a picture.  

I know what you want for breakfast,

so I’ll  warm up the cinnamon rolls, 

a favorite of ours, these baked 

by my father’s hand,

another gift from his kitchen.

We are content, blessed 

in the gentleness of our knowing

one another’s movements,

anticipating the end of sentences,

cherishing every recollection each 

of us loves to tell, again and again;

we never grow tired of such

sweet memories.

We appreciate every gray hair

and each new line  

we will trace in our ongoing

desire to hold the image

of the other in place,

grateful for every blessed 

moment lived in the tenderness

of our enduring love story.

—C.L. Fisher, May 2020

Unless otherwise indicated, all content, including writing and images, are the work of C.L. Fisher and may not be copied, used, or distributed without permission.

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