Member-only story
The Poetry of Her
No one can match the beauty of my beloved.
The field is ours today on this sunny mid-June morning. The drive away from our work week and on to greener pastures from the clutter of the city always does us both good. It’s not long before we have the picnic blanket spread out on the grass and she lies down while closing her eyes. The touch of sunlight makes her smile in a familiar way that tells me she’s content in this moment.
I sift through the makeshift basket we threw together — in truth, it’s more of a cooler than anything quite so romantic — and I pour out two glasses of her favorite wine, a peach blend that’s perfect for a lazy summer getaway.
She opens her eyes and watches me with that mischievous gaze. “Drinking before noon? How scandalous!”
“I’m a rebel at heart, my love,” I say, grinning, before she snatches one glass from my hand and brings the rim to her lips.
“Delightful,” she says after a healthy sip. She leans her weight back on one elbow till she’s half-reclining. Her eyes flutter at me in a flirtatious way that makes me gravitate just a bit closer into her orbit.
“Of course,” I say. “Nothing less for my lady.”
“Oh, stop with that talk,” she says. “I so enjoy a rogue once in a while.”
