Twilight has edged its way in,
the sun being tamed by the advancing night,
while among the darkening cottonwood
the chorus of songbirds grows muted,
relaxed and that intimate,
beloved magic enters our
golden domain again.
The air grows headier
with what I call your essence -
the scent of every blossom
that ever was, ever could be, seems
to be a part of you.
I could say romance permeates the air
but over the precious years with you
I've learned that being close to you
doesn't always have to be sexual.
Rather, it seems the measurable times,
the cherished moments are those when
we are alone together and each can embrace
the other's smile, keenly aware of what
the other is thinking, feeling
and dreaming without it being
put to words. Indeed, the best times
are simply those when we
can quietly look into
each other's eyes.