From the sparkle of her earring to the gleaming polish of her toes she couldn’t help but close her eyes and wish that his voice would stop the glory of it all would end, but there was the poetry that he wouldn’t quit. The poetry of them together was too much to bare, it was better then any Whitman, Frost or Longfellow. It was real poetry, with no bounds and no author, but the music that they made together. The eloquence of the words that danced around them; laughter, forgiveness, loves, peace, blue and water. There was so much more to the book, their book of days to end all days and together they would find what they had been looking for. Or maybe just maybe they will fly away, fly away together to make a new home away from judgment, away from ties that bind.
And so they fall in to it, into their pattern of looks and unknown outcomes for they can not say what the future will hold because they are those ties that bind they are everything and nothing as they lie there together finding themselves finding each other. Their love as fleeting as the dusty wings of a moth meant to take them away, while those wings can take flight with such ease they are so quickly ruined with the slightest touch of a human, a mortal in every sense of the word.