Here's to preserving the time's of new,
When silver knew not of tarnish, when a day knew not of bleak.
When the bottoms of feet received the texture of a world with the thirst for adventure and new found truths, not the anticipation of pain recalled.
When eyes held soft and fast the sights before us, kaleidoscope mirrors of the sweet things we conjured up within arms reach - no shields waved madly behind gazes, no anxiety picked from the place between the things we've said, and what we'd meant.
Just the days of milk and honey, days made of two pieces, You and I.
When God shook the earth like a snow globe; how we laughed and rolled in silly confusion, and every petal that had ever fallen newly adorned our hair.
To taste it; a tree's warm breath. Those, are the days of milk and honey, may you find them now.
-dm.
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