From hands running over the familiar slant of letters.
A night by the window, remembering and reading,
Feverish declarations of love in black ink;
A date and time as post-script, six hours away.
A dark silhouette languidly walks the empty streets.
Cocooned in an embrace, drunk on unspoken promises,
The joy of knowing that he chose her and she chose him.
A wave of shyness as eyes meet, lower and look again;
Yellow light floods the young faces, breath fogs up,
And fingers entwine around the corner lamp post.