Her mind was overrun with pictures and her soul answered an unspoken quandary by leading her to the vertex of his love and her needs.


Ensuing the initial meeting there were days, months and years of alternating ambiguous interceptions, some laced with sensually surreptitious suggestions, some simply sharing clandestine sorrow.

Over time and mutually agreed silent certainties, a promised frame rewove its way around two souls.

It wasn’t the kind of frame you place on a nightstand to glance at once in an eclipsed moon over a cup of tea and spoonful of nostalgia.

It was made of crystallized hope, mystically infused dreams, magick, faith, belief and commitment, the expandable materials that one might logically include in a foundation of love.

It was the kind of frame that gifted ethereal peace in only a squint of warmth, the kind one gets when placing their hands over their eyes to shield them from the sun’s life giving energy.

It was the kind of frame that didn’t have room to rest in museums because it contained too many possibilities infused in the blood of woebegone artistry.

It was the kind of frame for which there existed no methods of interpretation and no comparisons for appraisal.

It was the kind of frame that none but the two could see but which through the two could see everything.

It was the kind of frame that appeared to disappear and reappear out of nowhere, taking on the characteristic of the stars and following the rotation of the sky.