This is called Forever

In the train that passed from Montpellier and Lyon,
His head rest just below my shoulder upon my beating heart.
It was in that moment, I think- not later, not at home in his parents' house,
not in front of any minister- I married him.
I wed him in my mind. I cleaved to him for life.

His face wore the expression I loved best.
He was lost in dream somewhere between this world and the next.
For some reason I value this look even more than the ones he turns directly on me.
His beauty sent a pang through me,
not of a mere physical longing-
but of something akin to awe at his completeness.
He was untouchable,
mine but lost to me at the same time..