Surroundings

I whip my jeep faster around the turn than I should. I get a little impatient, but when I pull in and see his car, that head of tangled hair bent over a book, his recognition and heartfelt grin, I can't help myself. He makes my heart beat, dark and dashing.

"Hey sweetheart," he strolls around his car as I open my door.

Before I can even get out he leans in and kisses, cupping my face in his hands. My own hands blindly encircle him in a warm hug, adding a breathless "Hello" to the parting of our lips.

He's so tall, evident in his long stride, in my reach around his waist. He is my stability on the treacherous path, a strong hand for the stairs, the branch-mover. He found this quiet outdoor refuge, where we have peace under a green roof.

"Beautiful," I say to his words. "Sounds like Bob Dylan."

He strokes my hair, lying the notebook down."You've always had a thing for poets."

"But never poetry." I snuggle closer and sigh. "You changed that."