The morning that I first loved you
was not the morning of the day
that I first told you that I loved you,
fear needed a space to bridge
and an ocean served it well.
It was not following the day
I first met you, saw you smile,
heard you laugh, or perhaps
it was and I didn’t notice.
It was not the day that I held
you in my arms, our lips
pressed gently together, that
was just its acknowledgement.
It was not the day we first
made love, it was the moment
we met and my heart knew real passion
perhaps for the first time ever.