Butterflies crept from the pages of the book we held,
and golden threads rained, quivering, down across our faces
like confetti from the tips of their feet.
Your hand brushed the strands from my cheek
and you pulled me close and whispered the words
from the page as if it were a secret
for my ears alone.
We hung in the clouds over the setting sun,
the pink dancing in your hair
and the orange on the tip of your nose.
And you held me
and I knew how much I loved you.