Photo: https://c.pxhere.com
My Only Expectation
We started somewhere,
though we started everywhere.
No point can be pinned,
it was a conversation,
a look,
a smile,
words,
a place.
Seasons were our canvass,
and we painted ourselves slow.
Keeping every detail,
a record of our life
in love,
in trust,
in sickness
and in health.
Eros and Aphrodite sometimes came for tea.
And though we stumbled in their shadows,
our sighs smudged the heavens
with abstract utterance,
of caress,
of lips,
of eyes,
of that fleeting synthesis.
We’ve enjoyed so many, many things,
our needs were very few.
Time has gathered us more closely now,
our youth is more within.
Still we paint our canvass,
as life invites us through,
and my only expectation is
I’ll paint this road with you.
©Paul Cannon
Paul,
pvcann.com
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