Quart of honey

  Sweeter than the quart of honey,

  our loot after meandering the market stalls,

  breathing in the cleansing spirit of fall.

  Sweet when we picnicked in the park,

  watching the reflections of ducks.

  Sweet when we hiked the mountain

  to the light of the distant suns,

  searching for the peak.

  Sweet when I kissed your cheek,

  fragile as a butterfly,

  unexpected as rain in sunshine.

  Sweet when you held my hand,

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  familiar as a dog-eared book

  I can recite word for word.

  Sweeter than the bee sting of the many years I dreamed

  of this fall with you.

  All the things

  It was all the same thing,

  one thing. Holding hands.

  Walking the sidewalks, trails, mountains

  or streams. Catching each other after class.

  All one thing.

  We could have been shoveling dirt,

  as long as we shoveled together,

  wafts of earth like fairy dust in my eyes,

  rocks like diamonds,

  holes like treasure hunts.

  The cuddles were sweet,

  the words gentle, the moments tender,

  but it all pales like the dead

  when I realize it’s you.

  The girl I missed until I found

  all the things in the blinding light of our simple,

  homegrown love.