The first year I lived with dreams of travel;

of climbing mountains in Switzerland with my love,

relishing spaghetti in Italy, sharing sushi in Japan.

In New York I would climb the Statue of Liberty,

and the morning mist would kiss her face.

Just like my love would kiss mine.

We’d stroll a Spanish village flanked with shops,

and holding hands we’d hear sweet music makers

strumming their guitars made of ash and alder.

…………

It must be two centuries ago when I felt my lover’s hands sliding

over my tender parts and places; in the days when we shared

our aspirations of roaming the world together.

But for now, our baby’s breath is sugary

and replaces long held desires for us to hail a cab in Barcelona.

With love and our red umbrella, we shield our infant son instead.

Our plans of travel replaced with little things

like watching him sleep. This precious child who has captured us,

and whose baby breath is sugary.