The Beautiful Man

There is a bench
in a garden, weathered,
the wood worn,
knots coiled where moss lingers
on the fringes of time.

Here she sits side by side
with the Beautiful Man.

He has taken her hand
where no words are spoken.

The walls around the garden
do not withhold from her
a single thing.

There is growth perpetual where
conversation has folded
between the palms of their hands.

She comes here to brew in stillness,
to feel the rush immaterial fade,
to merge with what is eternal -

To feel the flavours between them
infuse.

Jenneth Graser

#write31days
Day 4 prompt - brew

Artist - Emma Lazauski