Pink Prelude

As prelude to his visit, we
planted red and pink begonias,
poured Murphy’s Oil in water. 
On step stool, sponge in hand, we scrubbed 
lintel, door, and wood, rooting out
webs, dirt, grime. We windexed, swept
the path, hosed chairs, gathered debris.

Then he arrived and spoke. Some said,
“Sublime.” Some said, “Nectar.”
To myself, I said, “I shall never
be the same.” Touched by his love, I
never was.

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