Magnificent. Poem by Felicity Whitacre

We're a team, you and I.
Keeping secrets,
and secret trysts....
Romantic places? No, not at all.
-Not until you were there with me.
Only you-
only We-
can turn mottled pleather into silk,
painted cement into marble,
the whir of appliances into a songbird's call.
Who cares if we're young; if we can't afford or arrange
for a fairytale date?
You and I, Love, we don't need the fancy stuff.
We're fancy on our own, with our worn-out jeans as we dance
an awkward dance
with all imagined grace in the world.
Scornful glances are thund'rous applause,
and my beautiful gown swirls as we twirl to a pause.
You and I, Love, we're beautiful.
Magnificent.