Love letter # 650
There is a moment, when the sun pierces clouds towards the close of a winter afternoon, that brings me to you. It is a fragile brightness. It is the colour of hope. A brief transportation to the richness of spring, to the sensual bake of summer. For though the dark and cold are quick to reclaim their ascendency, the vision will not be forgotten. The intoxicants of your sway, your glistening skin, your gaze. It takes but a murmur to form itself into song. A crisp beam of angled sun to illuminate the world. A turn of your head, a fraction of you. I need no other sign.