It was subtle, the way the best of an amorous mission shall always be, laden with vanilla creamed dreams of perfect completion - She had no inkling, as he in mid December dawn traversed the frost crusted ground and stood on the precipice of their unfolding future. As sun fingered the sky he bowed a gentle genuflect to all lovers who had balanced before on this trivet of he, she and possibility and a poem, his poem penned in hand - knocked, as dawn broke shimmering this forever remembered day.
Sun tumbled.
