The irony of a love tale, maybe love? Maybe not.

The irony of  a love tale, maybe love, maybe not?

 She told me. The irony of a love tale, maybe love, maybe not?

She told me, Fickle I am, fickle I was.

I love the irony of the first kiss, the first warm day of April.

I love the never-ending Summer days where we can dance for the lake and the Dust at 9 pm.

I know now, kisses are blessings, we will always cherish every one and

we must leap into the wisp of love possibility.

We must seek the ancient cities and roam them seeking secret and unknown places.

We must drink the old wines and make love by the River Rhine in Basel.

I want to languish in your beautiful eyes of wild blue.

You make me believe in the miracle of love and

let’s dance in the golden hours where lovers don’t fear the ending.

I told her. I have adored you for a thousand days and

I love when you talk to me about the poetry, the good books and the sea.

Your voice, so sweet, so gentle.

Make me fall into your eyes, your voice and I pray for more time with you.

Please kind and beautiful friend,

Let’s wait for the sun, to kiss the moon as they pass each other. Like secret lovers.

Let’s dance for the Goddess of the sea and show her.

Love is still alive and well.

You drive to a love madness, I forgotten and the irony of love is fair.

You don’t find love, love find you.