We’d meet there, that halfway point, between your house and mine. A grassy hill inside the park, protected by trees and quiet. There the rabbits would come out to play, to chase and eat and romance hours away. Coming home from a weekend stay I’d meet you there. I walked and ran, impatient to be with you.
On that hill we sat, lay among the clover looking at the sky and talked the evening away. Then the long walk to your house, time was faster then, no doubt. There was never enough to be with you.
The way you slipped your hand in mine, the joy that filled my soul. I loved you then as now. What I would give to feel your fingers entwined in mine again.
We’re far away from the rabbits’ field, the place I held you close. Where our spirits knit and my soul tattooed with your face inside a heart.
I long for just one hour of so many we had then. To be close to you again, to smell your skin, and hear your heart.
Perhaps tonight I’ll dream a dream to take me back to that hill, and see your face, and kiss your lips, and be where the rabbits run.