When was our love born?
Was it sparked on the couch we shared,
bodies curled side by side in friendship until
you breathed on my neck and it tingled in my toes
and we knew mere friendship couldn't last?
Did it begin with magic?
A romantic walk in an enchanted grove,
fermented with a week and wisdom into wine
and finished with a kiss.
When was our love born?
Did it start when you asked me to be yours,
the day that we named each other and from which we count?
Was it the night you confessed your love for me?
I do not know when our love was born,
but I do know that the day I first whisper sacred words in your ear
will not be the first day I love you
but the day I am sure that I cannot bear to let our love die.
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