Sunny Sunday

Sunny Sunday afternoon—
perfect time
to sway in the hammock,
staring blankly into the foliage
that towers above me
and dances
to the music of my mind.

As I sway and stare
my vision veers
from real to remembered
and once again I find myself
lost in happy thoughts of you—
Our past…
Our present…
Our future…

When will four be two
and two be one?
I cannot tell, but
Hope
keeps me
waiting.

I pray for patience.
More for you than me.
You need it more—
I spoiled you so when we were together…
(and I’ll spoil you ten times more when we are one).
I am worth the wait.

A comforting breeze tosses my bangs.
The drifting sun finds a weak spot in the branches
and kisses my face,
already flushed by the memory
of what you said to me last week….
I’ve replayed it countless times in my mind.
The innocence of your wickedness
can drive me wild with want.
You tease and tempt—
and then you tame.
It’s fair
because I do the same to you….

I love our weekly chats.
They mean much to me.
Whether warm with friendship,
or boiling with passion,
the temperature is always perfect for the need.
But I miss you—
Holding you.
Beholding you….
You are worth the wait.

Until I can be with you in my waking hours,
Then I shall come to you, love, in my dreams.

Special Day

Today is a special day for me, as it marks the completion of half a century in my journey around the sun. When put that way, it sounds like a long time, but I assure you that I am still quite young. At least, I still feel young… most days.

To mark this momentous occasion, I had considered writing specifically about turning 50, but decided instead to write 50 lines about my favorite subject: young love. By young love, I do not refer to the immature infatuation between two pubescents. Rather, this is the steady, tested, patient love that can last a lifetime and maintain a sense of youth in the hearts of two lovers even as their bodies inevitably continue to age. I hope it touched your heart and made you feel young again, especially if you too are living your second half-century.

Copyright © 2018 Abigail Gronway – All Rights Reserved