Lucky is the one
Who wakes up to serenades
In up tempo love songs
One can groove to
With swing and swag,
Putting to rest
The conventional 19th century
Chivalrous heart
Which must be the reason
For morning yawns and sighs.
Replacing bouquets of dying flowers
With potted memories rich in soil
That flourish in vibrant ’80s hues,
And keeps one amused past mornings
And through afternoons.
Evenings no longer anticipating
Boxed chocolates
That leave a bitter aftertaste
Which must be washed down
With ice cold milk to go down sweet,
But instead brought with
Juxtaposed heavy and light hitting banter and healthy endeavors
Which leave a warm spot in ones heart
With no want to wash it away,
But rather let it grow
Knowing that anxiety is no longer
Part of an equation to romance.
And understanding that what is to come, already has.
It just lies in wait of physically coming into sight of lovers eyes
Without blight nor flight,
But funky songs and light nimble feet that step to the beat of mornings sweets.

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