Secret Meeting

The meeting of two loves.

Take my hand, sweet paramore.
The contact just a slight implore.
Your softness and warmth a comfort to me.
As we sit against the bark of the great willow tree.
Your arm around my waist, the other in my hair.
Our scents entwining in the warm summer air.
I feel your skin brush against mine.
Your feeling to me so divine.
Your heart I hear as I lean my head,
upon your chest as the time I dread.
You smile and cup my face in your hands,
your eyes sad but full of demands.
You lean in softly and steal a kiss,
the contact so soft I almost miss.
Our breath mixing as we sigh.
Our souls soaring oh so high.
Yet soon does the time draw near.
We have to leave, as I fear.
Now dusk approaches on silent wings,
and we part our ways as the nightengale sings.