When she stands with me at Lake Como, the water lapping her thighs, all will be good with the world. I may glance, once or twice, at the snow-capped peaks decorating the sky behind her, though surely not more than a couple of times, for she will radiate in beauty and happiness, this lovely woman, kept apart from me for so long.
We will have a roasted eggplant and cheese ciabaca sandwich, I fancy, and I will let her order, and watch her tease the water in her special Italian, involving the fluttering of her eyelashes and guilty smile.
By the water, later, I will pour her a glass of red wine, and hold her sandals, and walk on the rocks that border the shores with her, as the evening dusk softly turns the afternoon into mauve evening.
in the changing day
her alluring green eyes