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He is the beatings of my heart.
As meaningful to me as this world is immense.
He’s the graceful, resplendent trees that give me life,
without him I could not by any means, breathe.
He’s as hard as the Rocky Mountains
and as sweet as golden-wrapped Russian chocolate.
He is the smell of expensive, sex-appealing Express cologne
and the feel of passionate purple with a taste of revealing red.
He is my love, no matter the confrontations we encounter.
It would be my honor, if ever given the chance
to see his last name spelled out divinely after my first.
We will live in an admirable diminutive house by the water
looking through our window at the feathered emerald grass and
navy blue reflective waves swimming through the lake.
The sun would shine through the tainted glass without any care
and the sky would change colors fluently but softly before
my persistent and loving eyes of sweet amber.
I’d be up at the sounds of blue birds with red bellies chirping
And mating ever so beautifully,
to make a marvelous, pleasing, favorable breakfast for my love.
I’d kiss him delicately goodbye as he walked out the front door
in another daily attempt to receive a great promotion.
There is not a single thing I wouldn’t do for him.
He’d call me his wife, beautiful and darling
and be so honest and sincere with the words he spoke.
I’d have a full coarse dinner with candle lights and flawless flowers
waiting so elegantly and patiently for him to arrive.
The bed would be crying and begging for our presence
And I would tell him “I will love you forever and always”
Every night before we closed our eyes and drifted to sleep.
He’d call me his lover and his wife
And I would be his one and only…
If I got to play house, the way I wanted to.