You were going to be a dancer, a poet, going to save our world. I was content to be in the reflection of your eyes. I told you often dear lover. You are my art, my wonder, my mystery and my midnight dancer.
We had the seasons to taste love, we had the Germany Spring where we roamed the free paths of Europe. Saw the old castles and the waterfalls and we wandered the hidden cities and we drank the sweet red wine.
You were my beautiful Beatrice and I told you often. I will write a million words for your beautiful face, I will sing to the morning sky, how you made love, alive and well in my world.
We had the warm days of Summer. We danced in Paris at 3 am and I read poetry to you at Hyde Park in England. We drank wine in Basel, danced by the light of the stars in Vienna. We loved the days of summer.
Fall days, we did love. Music was for alive for us and we found our utopia in your small apartment. We drank rum and held tightly to love sweetness. You study for college and I wrote poetry and tale.
The Winter days and nights. Slower days, we listen to Elvis, Leonard Cohen, Pink Floyd and the Roller stones. I remembered we danced and we made great promises. I would sit at your feet, you caressed my hair and you sang Leonard Songs to me.
A love story, remembered often now. We had the seasons, we had our dreams, we had our youth. We didn’t know. Time is a thief and one day. I would know Dante’s sadness.
Write words of love for my endeared Beatrice. I wonder, do you remember us?