After Twilight

We could sit for ages by this half-lit table,
staring quietly, hands touching,
wordless through the magic evening
in the half-deserted rooms of our choice.
What separates us, as we stare,
is by our eyes made different from air ,
thicker, with deeper colours and a purpose
that binds the senses of close and far
and brings warmth to the silent breath
before releasing the rhythms of fire.
I tell you a poem when you least expect,
like a story of wordless emotions,
like whispering to your lips
and, when the words become remembrance,
we look for the smiles reflected on our eyes
as if time was the dim candle by the side.
On warmer days, though, we may lay down
on the soft green scent of the grass, like floating,
and it is so poignant it erases the other senses.
I whisper to your ear the secrets of the birds,
I search for your smile as a sign
that hides and shows,
for your lips as a gift of self forgetfulness
that empties and fulfils,
for your arms as the only shelter
as the day fades into the evening
and a perfect moon lights the clouds.