The Answer

I asked her,
do you really
love me?

She looked down at her hands,
those ,
delicate ,
graceful ,
fingers.

Lifting them up,
like the sunflower,
turns to face the sun,
she placed it on my hand.

Held my fingers,
played with them,
like a baby plays with the father’s.

I looked up at her face,
those,
deep,
sensitive,
eyes,
spoke
of care,
of a deep intense feeling.

Her beautiful lips,
quivered,
like the petals of a rose,
as they parted into a smile.

Her eyelids fluttered like
free butterflies,
in the morning sun.

She looked up at me,
I got my answer.

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I found it after ages here. Wrote this long back, when I was in this constant platonic stupor of a crazy love, where there was no age, and there was no protocol.
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