It’s not yet been a month since I met Joy’s vagina. Although it’s today just a month and a day since we first met.

Utterly, breathlessly in love.

Not fallen, but risen.

In a month and a day?

No, actually not.

It was much faster than that.

An instant, not more.

Days before we kissed, we met casually over grilled salmon and spicy red wine.

At once, I was home in the comfort of her curious, soft brown eyes.

As we parted that night, I dared not kiss her beyond a quick peck that whispered intentionally in the silence.

That night, her heart felt distant, perhaps imprisoned beyond a high and mighty wall erected as a fortress for the gentle, playful spirit hiding within.

I couldn’t feel it, not that day. Not for many more.

Except through the peep holes from which her sweet soul peered out, searching perhaps for signs and signals of safety or danger. Watching from a distance through a powerful scope.

Was she aware of my own eyes peering back?

One month and a day.

Often our lips met again. I’ve met and traveled with her vagina as well.

Utterly, breathlessly in love.