Take Me Beyond the Moon

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Take Me to the Moon.”

I will take my love beyond the initial flights into infinity or the first trip into free falling. Beyond the tentative touches on our pulsing wrists where delicious tension arrested our fingers above a whisper’s caress. Beyond the spark of discovering the mold of your lips against mine.

My love will go beyond the thrill of landing on the moon and solidify into the enduring consistency of elliptical orbit.

Our fifty sixth meal together—where you shoveled your mushrooms on my plate and I took your green peas without remorse—will become the fifty seventh.

And I will look forward to day two hundred and ten of opening my eyes to the stubborn cowlicks of your hair only to be serenaded by a yawn as you seek refuge in the crook of my neck.

My love will reach the three hundredth quick kiss at the door
And still weave circles across your back after your thirty fifth nightmare.
My love will dry the thousandth tear you will cry
And survive our sixth or sixtieth fight.

My love will not die once for you
but will live as a physical constant
that governs each of my breathes
to be testimony to your dimensional form.

I will be there for all the phases of your life should the tide gently brush against your feet or threaten to swallow you whole.

Updated 20th Sep: After posting this piece, I was still dissatisfied with some of the vague imagery. I decided to tie in physics and the idea of consistency in the second to last part. We tend to be enticed by grand gestures of love such as flying to the moon, but I think love’s foundation is based on the simple and constant things we do.

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5 thoughts on “Take Me Beyond the Moon

  1. “I will look forward to day two hundred and ten of opening my eyes to the stubborn cowlicks of your hair only to be serenaded by a yawn as you sought refuge in the crook of my neck.” My favorite of many wonderful lines. I will look forward to day two hundred and ten of opening my eyes to the stubborn cowlicks of your hair only to be serenaded by a yawn as you sought refuge in the crook of my neck.

    Like

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