For weeks I savored time with you, 
wanted to be with you always.
I never asked: “Will you marry me?”
Instead, I asked 
when can we wed? 
You answered “As soon as we can.”
I left your apartment giddy with joy.

It was a cold New England winter. 
I got cold feet as I drove to my lonely room. 
What had I done! 
Had I been impulsive?
Was this a doomed infatuation 
with a new girl who had a pretty face 
and a shapely figure?
Was my judgment addled
by my recent failed romance?

But when we met again, my dear,
I knew you were the one.
Even in the harshest times 
my feet were never cold again. 

          May, 2013