Infracaninophile

I would feed you, sweet our homebaked bread and make you coffee the way you like it. No sugar, skinny, flat. We would sit by the bay window and enjoy watching the butterflies, looking in on us, with their curious eyes. The robins at the south fence are singing and the little green frog still lives under the rhubarb stalks, Life, in all its beauty, and with its sunshine reflected in the puddles left by last night's rain, life does go on and it returns to us what we are willing to give, give to each other, our love for ourselves, being as deep as the love for what we are now calling our significant other. Yes, it is, indeed, the significance of your soul that has tied our hearts together, between your breasts and my hairy chest, with strings willingly and lovingly applied. And may I express that I can match what is visible in the still waters of your eyes, my gaze immerses into yours and drinks of the sweet nectar that is you. There is silence surrounding yet we hear the music of well-crafted violins inside our drum, its rhythmic beat a symbol of an orchestra made for enduring feats, and, when you speak the steam above our mugs subsides, it briefly changes course yet leaves your beauty unobscured and just for me. I rise to place a log of cherrywood into the fireplace, it can be chilly in these early Autumn days, the flame excites itself and rises high, the moment of a phoenix dream, and it now settles, burning low and lighting up the portrait of the day when we relived the miracle of the thirteenth, the day when kindly gods let two such kindred souls cross on a path of laughter by the sea, a mirror of impatient waves that will return again until the other takes its place. Yes I remember now, we smile just as my thought is born and flies to you, it lands with gentleness and now you look at me, mischievous dimple on your cheek, the left is open now like petals of a flower picked in Rome, you take my hand and place it on your cheek, your tongue erases lines and soothes memories of toil, of distant pain and hatred hurled with sudden force by those who could not feel or comprehend that there can be a drummer who will play for only two, and that his sounds are heard by all.... I do, I do. We wake from early morning, prepared to dance, and talk about today, what it may bring, the garden has its greenery and plans, a breeze arrives in leisure from the Bay. The paper boy, too quick, he races by, I hear you, LOVE, I'm taking out the pie. Your puzzle will not wait, Tuesday's is new, and I will help you if you give me a small clue. (I see her still, as we meandered down the aisle) ..... what dear, is an..... INFRACANINOPHILE?