Billet doux*

What billet doux can one send,
To Thou, my neopoiltan maid,
whence You art become so,
Letters written, read and reread,

But as someone once said,
There can never be an end
To letters of Love, to be read,
And seeing You, reading one,

By the garden, sitting quite,
With the morning decorating
You, Isabel, so, glorious, so quiet,
By the morning's light, decked,

Is a blessing by itself, made,
And i, just read betwixt, lines
And alphabets, words deep, Unsaid,
To find what our Love can us take,

La amore, do i really write for you,
Or do you really paint and create,
Only for me, to live in Joys, to procreate,
Perhaps not, never it can be so,

For our Love is for the forever,
You buckets of colors, me a River,
You a pencil sketch, me coolest shiver,
You the shelter, a refuge, me an oak huge,

Still, how in our painted spread,
How we make a Holi Bed,
You read a billet doux, i in DNA
Get our poesy and Writings embedded.

{*Note: loosely based upon a painting as attached, done by Vincent Romero Redondo, Courtesy: WAAF series, Alex Artista, Musica Pittura e Dintorni.
#isabel : a fictional character created by me , (of a novella romantic about life, love and Origin of Species)}


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