spring is for being naïve

at dusk

sun setting on an april day in paris 

I messaged you 

as if I was sending letters

by carrier pigeon 

to an enemy fort 

hidden in the alps 

you replied to me

from somewhere 

north of milan 

you lie wrapped in a robe 

drinking espresso 

even though it was much too late for caffeine 

staying awake 

to answer every question my weary heart asked of you

I told you what my young heart wanted out of love

in words that spelled out the lyrics 

to the song of my soul 

and you told me your dreams

of bringing me deep into the hills of tuscany 

and walking for hours 

in the milky moonlight 

as I fell asleep that night 

I didn't dream

but I know 

you were the last thought that entered my mind

I was so blind 

to the love you wanted to give me

so oblivious 

to the depths of my heart