Her smile washed over me
Like a million pieces of gold confetti
In slow motion
In an open field
And glowed with possibilities.
She was rhythm
A beautiful progression
Like the gentle tremble of a brush caressing a cymbal
But not the blues, no.
She was a subtle divinity
Her hue a supple oasis
Her voice, a sweet dark tea on a summer’s day
Brewed in the depths of her orchard soul
To quench the thirst of only those who are worthy to quaff it all.