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Between the perfume bottle
and the bracelet resting on my dresser,
there is a story
of how I fell in love with you.
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Between the camera and the books,
a stack of three,
there is a story of how you fell in love with me.
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Slipping on the bracelet, one of silver and engraved,
my eyes read the title of one book.
Never Take For Granted Love, on the cover it did say.
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On my wrist the scent I placed.
Its aroma told of a moment when your arms they lifted me
and we spun circles on brick space.
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Reflected in glass double doors,
this was a true love story’s start.
To have the moment photographed, I could visit it once more.
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On the silver band around my wrist,
my only love had inscribed,
“Never take for granted love.”
Nostalgic tears did fall, from my hazel eyes.
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