You were going to be a dancer, a poet, going to save our world. I was content to be in the reflection of your eyes. I told you often dear lover. You are my art, my wonder, my mystery and my midnight dancer.
We had the seasons to taste love, we had the Germany Spring where we roamed the free paths of Europe. Saw the old castles and the waterfalls and we wandered the hidden cities and we drank the sweet red wine.
You were my beautiful Beatrice and I told you often. I will write a million words for your beautiful face, I will sing to the morning sky, how you made love, alive and well in my world.
We had the warm days of Summer. We danced in Paris at 3 am and I read poetry to you at Hyde Park in England. We drank wine…
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