our love from old

You are the explosion of carnations
in a dark room
Or the unexpected scent of pine
miles from Maine.

You are a full moon
that gives midnight its meaning.
And the explanation of water
For all living things.

You are a compass,
a sapphire,
a bokmark.
A rare coin,
a smooth stone,
a blue marble.

You are an old lore,
a small shell,
a saved silver dollar.
You are a fine quartz,
a feathered quill,
and a fob from a favourite watch.

You are a valentine
tattered and loved and reread a hundred times.
You are a medal found in the drawer
of a once sung hero.

You are honey
and cinnamon
and West Indies spices,
lost from the boat
that was once Marco Polo's.

You are a pressed rose,
a pearl ring,
and a red perfume bottle found near the Nile.

You are an old soul from an ancient place
a thousand years, and centuries and milleniums ago,
And you have travelled all this way
just so I could love you.
I do.


From Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas, by James Patterson.