A Beautiful World

She places her foot in the cradle of the swing and stands up, her study knees locking as she propels herself forward. Her hands are clasped around the tarnished chains. She watches him.
He steps over and into the sandbox made of bent, painted metal. He hunches over, his long spine curving gently. The sky is a thick blue tone, and she is convinced that every mind's concept of blue must have been born from such a sky; the green of the grass thrusts up and out towards the horizon. She watches him silently, patiently, like a gardener watching a flower bloom. Their hearts are so close. And though his back is on her, his mind is with her, and as she looks at him, she loves him, just as the shadows of whispering leaves that fall on his back.
She steps carefully down from the swing to be beside him. His kiss focuses eternity into a point in her mind. She would like to paint the moment inbetween, when his lips are pressed upon her own. An action evolved to something much more sacred than pressure.
He is a magician, and how she loves him. He makes the sky so blue, the grass so green, the heat so mild and pleasant. His trick is the beautiful world that surrounds them.
They kiss once more, a toast.
Here is to forever.