By December

By December

I.

In May
rain tiptoed out
as pretty peonies
blew about in the
after-shower. It was
only proper
that I should meet you
in my perfect season
when petals bloom
at first sight-
pink as the possibility
of love.

II.

July
was warm, this Texas sun
like my blush, born
of something heart melting.
We thought that summer
would never come and the cry
we worried about never fell;
as most perfect days go,
it shined. There were lilies
falling softly before the train,
Delicate words vowed
behind veiled whispers
only lovers could hear
and adhere to.

III.

By December,
feelings came
and never went
since you took my hand;
never softer than now
when perfect mornings
are the ones
beginning next to you.
Seasons change
like butterflies
in this metamorphosis,
but, my dreams never have.
Your laughter fills this room
and my face lights it up.
Flutters still happen here
when those brown eyes
meet with mine.

~

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