The first morning
To say that he did not glow, stepping in,
Against the harsh July sun, would be untrue.
Never one to believe wild romanticism, even
Given the years after, he would not admit that
Every molecule between them quivered with the
Relentless stretch of a forever, founded, so softly,
In the murmur of a “Good morning,” of a
“No sugar, thanks” in the shimmery expanses of that first
Early morning spent in the company of the other.
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