under the magnolia

to whisper sweet nothings (the wants of lovers)

the sounds of a faraway song dance through from another room

we stand before the portraits of some generations forgotten under time

your finger traces your glass, half empty or half full, i don't care

an arm's distance between our shoulders

step closer, i wish to shout

we watch the age dusted face of a woman, to avoid each others eyes

your eye color, i regretfully cannot remember

look at me, i wish to say

have you moved nearer?

you have; our knuckles graze

i wonder if the lady in the portrait ever felt this way

had she ever dreaded falling asleep, had she ever wished for the day to wake faster

the song of a party gone a little too long changes, and we turn and our eyes meet

hello

what beautiful eyes you have, how could have i forgotten

you look over my shoulder, at the window behind me

it's raining, you say

and you hesitantly, gently, take my hand in yours

let's go, you say, i'll walk you home

i follow without a word; how could i not?

stepping into the rain, i glance back at the woman in the portrait

at the gaze forever caught in a swirl of paint and oil

to whom i wonder, did those eyes look at the way you look at me?

the rain sparkles in your hair, my dear, and we run

to the stormy skies above and the depth of time itself, i say

whoever they are, etched onto a canvas, i hope they find this feeling

of rain running into their eyelashes

tripping over nothing, and gasping out laughter

and through it all, the feel of a hand grasping theirs

you say something over the steady drumbeat of the rain

i could not hear you at all, my dear, i laugh

i don't know until when this lasts

but right this instant i am alive, oh i am alive and that remains true for the time you are with me

let me be selfish when i say, that is all that matters

for here i am, and here you are

there is nowhere i would rather be than with you