In Permanent Ink
We are written
in the kind of permanent ink
only the heart knows how to read.
Occupying the quarters of the mind,
stretched across a woven tapestry
we decorated in vibrant shades—
lingering in some places
more than others.
---
Shy glances on our first date—
white carnations, buttered popcorn.
Hands finding each other in the dark.
A stop at the photo booth.
A goodnight kiss
on a dimly lit porch.
---
A random hike up Promise Hill.
Daisies, forget-me-nots
framing our steps.
The sun crests as we peak—
burnt orange
waving across the sky.
I turn
on the whisper of my name.
The sun at my back.
A solitaire,
your bended knee
at the front.
---
The epicenter shifts
before the loud arrivals.
Bundles of energy—
pink tutus, navy coveralls.
We pause.
Unpredictable as seconds—
ballet abandoned for V8s,
piano and theatre
for the other.
Open-air screenings under stars,
blankets, pillows,
a Sunday kind of full.
---
Midday meetings.
Cocktails on a Thursday.
Dinner parties, car pools
with purpose.
Phone calls just because.
Anniversaries in the quiet.
The long walk down the hall
to the corner office with a view.
We pause—
again.
---
The crest blanket hangs
in the room filled
with the most laughter.
Bingo. Black Jack. Beer.
Movies on a Friday—
buckets of buttered popcorn,
hands still finding each other
in the dark,
still leaning in
for a kiss.
Written in permanent ink.
