CHILLS OF WONDER

He saved for me rain water

in a vase of etched crystal

and filled it with roses

that had a hint of gold

outlining their beauty.

He wrote me little notes

with crisp black ink

on sheets of snow white paper.

and always signed them,

"with all my love".

I would trace his name

with the tips of my fingers

and bring them to my lips

as if I could feel his passion in the letters

that had dried upon the pages.

He played for me music

that sounded as if it had been

filtered through the shimmering curtain of the dawn,

seductive notes that preluded

the sound bites of romance.

When he was away from me

I would hum his melodies

and feel myself grow undefinably excitied

with the remembrances

of his touch.

When our moment was ending

and the spectrum of illusion

became only the truth

he said he was not leaving,

only going in search of the chills of wonder.

He promised he would bring them back to me

and once again find the treasure

that lays behind

the soft velvet of my soul

and would then claim it as his own.

I await his return

and the refined madness

of his love.