Dearest Love

Dearest Love,  

It is Tuesday and dark as ink out  
at least from what I can see out the French doors.  
I can’t see the moon like the night we danced  
in the garden. You were like music, soft playing,  
sigh making music. Let’s sit at a café near calm waters  
and watch the sun melt into the sea when you arrive home.  
   
All yours,  

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