The Paper Heart

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The wait is over

She is his remedy.

The harbor beaming a breathe of life into his dying lungs. The fresh air reviving his heart from suffocation.

No ocean is too deep that he wouldn’t risk life and limb to reach the warmth of her caress.

The love he has for her is not water under the bridge. It is the crashing waves on celestial shore lines.

The world could not possibly grasp the magnitude of her depth. Yet he would drown in those waters if she called it a thing of beauty.

For now he wades through her words in the daylight. Waiting for a visit from her through the pages of expression.

Wet with her gentle refreshment longing for an authentic taste of her poetic tongue.

Eyesight is not needed to see the fullness of who she is. He is looking only with his heart.

She is his goddess holding a proverbial pen. Writing love notes on his fierce exterior.

A literary force breaking barriers into mosaic pieces at his feet.

She is the moonbeam he has been sleeping under.

The figment tiptoeing through his dreams awakening his senses in the dark.

She is all things encompassing wishful thinking.

He is her majestic maestro.

He pulls the strings of her glorious instrument with gentle precision.

Images of his intent direct her into a smooth rhythmic dance.

She often daydreams of his body moving toward her from across a room.

The feel of his confident hands gliding over her every groove. He is her rhyme and her reason.

The muse peeling layer upon layer to the center piece of her truth.

She is not one for opening her secret garden to the atmosphere. Yet somehow he holds the master key to unlocking her creative soul.

She has longed for a man of his caliber. Far too weary of thumbing through the bitter chapters of fleeting romance.

He is the fresh page awaiting the story only she could produce. A novel worthy to be written.

One day their limbs will be at rest from walking toward one another in dreams.

One day affirming with outstretched arms they are one in this moment and always have been.

In a whisper she shall speak to him of poems unwritten and songs unsung.

He will watch her lips move in reality.

She will watch him exhale with sighs of thankfulness.

The multitude of meaning from one small phrase “the wait is over.”

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