Sitting on the bench just outside of St. James historical house, I wait for you to finish perusing the gift shoppe (oh, how I loathe that spelling) while inside you lift up and examine every touristy knick-knack that said shoppe has on offer.
Although happy you’ve finally crossed over from work David to holiday Dave, I am now exhausted by your World War II fascinations, particularly when the morning had held so much hope.
Our day began with a bright orange sunrise in the window, cuddles and quiet giggling in a hotel bed, room service scones with decidedly dark coffee served upon an enamel tray.
Watching you disembark naked from the bed to pull on your robe, find your wallet, answer the door knock and pay the patient server, my heart leapt with longing, mixed with admiration, mixed with laughter, mixed with lust, overshadowed by love.
That recent memory still with me, I watch you walk out of the building now, at first hesitant, seeking me in the vast crowd, finding me, your eyes shining, and as you walk towards me I realize this was a most perfect day after all.