By Denis Bateme, Guest Writer

When this story is told I suppose
You will be by my side
Still holding my hand as tightly as in the beginning
That your stare shall as forever be transfixed upon my presence
In utmost admiration as an eternal tale of old newness recurrently told
That by cupid’s fireplace we shall sit and still feel the solid hold
Of the soothing burn of the flames as if it were only yesterday lit.
You will chuckle at my senile jokes
And I will still think your maze face a new borne’s
The threads that knit the canvass of our hearts still as seamless and supple-
Holding each piece in a peaceful spectacle
The oracle
At your behest we shall excurse the abyss of happiness.
My solemn promise.
To forever be as mad as I was drawn to you
In Love
To keep our hour glass of memories undeplete of crystals of bliss
To adjust the radiance of the sun so I can keep you in tangible form
And give relevance to your ordained rest place
To carry with me your sweet imperfections
And place them at the altar of utopia
You alone
Will paint the corners of my mind
You alone
Will be my heart’s interior designer.

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