Again, and Again, and Again….

He looked up.

The sky was a blanket of flowing, dark, pearly puffs.

An order of grey and white fowl arrowed their way,

toward the southern shore.

Each time he looked at the firmament,

day or night, he saw her.

Each time, he thought of her.

Every time, he fell in love with her.

During the first event they attended together,

He secreted glances at her as she glided across the room.

Her steps were measured and firm,

and carried with them a steadiness of purpose.

He couldn’t help himself.

He knew, imperceptibly,

he’d fallen in love with her.

She called him one day.

out of the blue.

I have a question, she sung.

The contents of which he doesn’t remember.

It didn’t matter.

Her voice was a blanket of repose,

that diminished his life-long anxiety.

He fell in love with that voice.

He sat next to her at a crowded table,

where others squeezed around.

He dared, out of view, to brush against her leg.

she recoiled, out of fear, not rejection.

He smiled to reassure her.

It was too late.

He fell in love with her again.

At every moment,

at every call,

at every visit,

at every thought,

at every darkly lit message,

at every entirety of her presence,

he fell in love with her all over again.