I tried to say what you were like:
A tapestry, a chandelier —
But all of it seemed rather trite,
Just words poured out to disappear

Like steam that rises from a lake
On summer mornings, just outside
A room where you and I might take
A weekend. Just a short day’s ride:

And dress up for an evening out,
With you, so beautiful in red,
By candlelight-reflected wine,
And love exchanged by done and said,

Back to a room, the dark, a bed:
And feeling you both bright and near —
The pattern and the light, your eyes:
A tapestry, a chandelier

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