The afternoon was hot and humid
the day we first set eyes on each other.
He bare-chested bent over
swinging his traditional sickle to tame
the over grown jungle like garden.
I watched in awe as his muscles rippled.
I offered the use of modern day tools
knowing I would rather watch him
toiling in so ancient a way.
On a sultry summer afternoon
we first exchanged tentative kisses,
each afraid of what might ensue.
His touch so gentle and soft
his kisses as gentle as butterfly wings against my lips.
My resistance and fear melting like ice in the sun,
my inner core thawing after a long dormancy.
The die was cast by the following morning
I awoke beside the man of my dreams
his gentleness and caring so new to me
and yet so well known and remembered.
Ours is a reunion,
together and apart for untold centuries.
The circle of life finally complete,
the cycle of ages fulfilled, destiny sought and found.
The night was wet and windy, when he asked me to be his wife.
His muse, flame-haired goddess and helpmate,
things I could only have dreamt about.