.
snow. the crunch of it under
her feet. the way the streets
whooooooosh
wet when the cars waltz by.
(where is everybody going?)
stars spilled, a crushed-glass ceiling
overhead. the moon’s borrowed
light.
an old story spun
on fresh strings.
the syllables of her name,
suddenly a song.
the blue
of his eyes.
the true
of his love.
..
Prompted by Kelly over at dVerse. Come play!
Whimsygizmo's Blog 
Ah, yes — love. You captured it so beautifully.
“stars spilled, a crushed-glass ceiling
overhead.”
Truly wonderful.
Gorgeous, De!
I love this De! :o)
This is lovely. Made me smile happily.
Oh, this is just beautiful, every word. I especially love the crushed-glass ceiling imagery, and the way you lead us down to true love.
Never gets old, always a fresh one to behold true love ~ Beautifully told De ~
I love this piece!
the syllables of her name,
suddenly a song.
could love be expressed better… also how suddenly the worst of better becomes a bliss… like singing in the rain.
So many firsts. illustrating how true love is built with verve & experiences–casting aside those furtive sexual tiny adventures, peeling back mere lust & overactive hormones, to discover sacrifice, accommodation & reciprocation.
Simply lovely. 🙂
the blue of his eyes.
the true of his love.
Some pull factors just can’t be avoided. It makes things nice
Hank
the song of a name
the true of his love
beautiful. Thank you for your song!
Not sure if I could choose my favourite line..um..ALL of them?!! But I do love “an old story spun on fresh strings”……makes me sigh.
Sorry for the late visit…catching up. 🙂