The night before we’ll buy supplies.
We’ll start out very early.
We’ll drive off into the sunrise
for somewhere quaint and distant;
somewhere quaint, distant and lonely.
We’ll park somewhere off the road,
and leave our cellphones in the car –
the world can make do without us
for a little while.
We’ll get the blanket off my bed
and a bottle of sweet red:
rosy, red, and sweet
like your lips.
We’ll sprawl beneath a tree –
just you and me.
Just you, me, and some wine
and nothing else in the world.
And there will be nothing to pretend,
and nothing to contend:

We won’t have to blabber, mindless –
we’ll be comfortable in silence.
There will be nothing to pretend,
and nothing to contend,
for hours on end.
Just the real me, and the real you.
No more secrets, nothing furtive
bare the hidden, the unattractive;
all the little imperfections
that make up your entirety,
the fullness of your beauty.
We’ll trace the arc of each other’s lives
and that of the sun, across the sky;
and at the darkening fall of dusk,
we’ll carefully rearrange the masks
and track back to the vehicle,
to the angry buzzing of our phones.
Then we’ll leave the wild behind
And drive back into the jungle.

The sky behind’s a scarlet hue:
the dying sun-rays
bleeding through.
Catch my eye a time or two:
the twinkle that says
“I know you.”

The Sofa Philosopher (real name Alvin) identifies as a truth seeker; a lover of art and literature. He writes for the mind, and might touch your heart in the process. ‘Know You’ is one of the gems that was lost with the death of 

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