I put my thoughts under a canopy of stars, the last pulp of grape fermented to quench the vine from which I savor. My lips have kissed laughter, sunshine, the clouds of Renoir, the madness of Van Gogh. In the still of the night, lingering with wet showers, a palette of colors; Picasso's love affair, juxtaposed lines unable to conform. Love is many things that cannot be bottled and sold. its many prisms, the imbibes, a subtle cadence understood only when you listen closely to your heart, as it soars great heights, and plummet depths embraced by the spirit; that secret dwelling space no other can fill, where dust is gold, solitude, divine. In the palm of you hand love unfolds, it seeks and is sought, reflections in our eyes greet each others moon, each other sunset. Under the canopy of our sky, mirror of beauty lies.