Definitions

Beauty was in the coffee by the bedside....carefully brewed in a morning in Wakefield when the sleet from the night before had stopped its persistent clatter...he had stolen away from the warmth to face the cold floor, pad away in boxers and a tee shirt and slowly open the door so the hinges wouldn't squeak and wake her.

Beauty was in the cold of the kitchen, across the view of the expanse of the farm that she grew up on...as he found measured spoons of the coffee and found the way to brew it, hearing the gurgling of the heated water express itself into the grounds and spill liquid warmth.  There was a beauty in the alchemy of turning beans into liquid...water into coffee...her with him, her into him, them into us.

Beauty was in the bath he drew for her...warm but not hot...an older bathroom that felt larger when she was younger but now felt immensely small...beauty was in his care of candles, the scent of summer linens despite summer being so far away...so that the room felt warm and clean...and the tub waters were thick with a bathbomb that left it opaque.

Beauty was in that right temperature, prepared for her well shaven legs to enter slowly...immersing.

Beauty was in her dipping her toe into his thoughts and stirring his mind...the waters congealing...mixtures of her and him and blurring the world that he knew.

Beauty was in her removal of clothes, shedding like an autumn tree, revealing her limbs and her core, her essence, baring it to him in the comfort of his regard...so that she knew the trust, and the accommodation he would provide....he would comfort her like a blanket in her state...he would embrace like snow on the branches...he would cover her and in those moments together it made it all very beautiful.

Beauty was in her voice, a sound from another room...beckoning... a beautiful word as it announces a request...a call.  A request.  Come here...and the desire to respond, to turn and face...her voice was like a sun to flowers, turning petals to open and expose.

Beauty was in hearing her footsteps outside...a presence...gravity.   A real person, beside. 

Beauty was in the empty bourbon glass by the bedside...a witness to a wanton night...fuel for the fire.  As she emptied it she warmed and as she warmed she aligned alongside to him...they clinked glasses in toasts to each other, kissed above the drinks...beauty was in the taste of a bourbon kiss...the setting aside of crystal next to them and the move onto serious business.

Serious bedroom business that redefined beauty once again...and again.

Beauty is what she exuded in her sleep, her comfort...his slight rise in the bed to see the outline of her, that familiar shape and profile.

Beauty is what he awoke to...her sweet eyes and sleep tussled hair. 

Beauty is what he dreamed about occasionally, so hard to predict.  Couldn't force.

But as he climbed the stairs back to their room, two cups of coffee in his hands, he knew that opening the door would be a restoration of his world, a refinement of his day, an exposure to beauty that he had hoped to ever find...and would once again find.