In our life, everything is beautiful.
It has to be.
Or it will not survive.
The sun must be gold,
pouring through the emerald leaves
of the horse chestnut tree
onto my Love’s face:
red sun hat, blonde over blue,
a book open on her chest.
There is no mundane.
Not in our world.
For we have cut out any grey,
and called its absence Peace.
There are no clocks in our red-brick home,
Only endless time to live this perfect life.
With no obligations. No age. No responsibility.
Only us, lying on this rug on hardwood floor,
drinking red wine next to the fireplace.
This is the world we choose to live in.
It is as the Garden of Eden.
There is no ugly, and no bad.
Only beauty, freedom, and love.
And nothing is real enough
to hurt you.