How Do I Love Thee?
By Dragon's Daughter 1980
Disclaimer: Other than being a devoted fan, I have nothing to do with Numb3rs. I also cannot claim credit for writing one of my favorite love poems. That honor goes to Elizabeth Barrett Browning who wrote Sonnet 43 in Sonnets from the Portuguese.
She smiled as she unlocked the front door of the restored Victorian and entered the spacious foyer. Even without artificial illumination, she moved confidently into her residence. She locked the deadbolt and chain before she placed her purse and keys on one of the twin mahogany tables that were pushed against the walls on either side of the door.
She moved toward the stairs that led to the second-story, skirting the large round table that sat in the center of the circular foyer. Her hand hovering above the light switch, she paused for a moment. Something was different.
Tuberoses… There was a bouquet of the aromatic flowers in the glass vase on the center table. She smiled. She already knew what color they were. Leaving the light switch untouched, she moved to the table and reached out to stroke the long stems of the flowers. The small white blossoms released a sweet fragrance that never failed to remind her of him, his love, and their life together. The flowers always reappeared on the anniversary of their first date. When she heard him approach softly behind her, not enough to startle her, but enough to gently surprise her, her smile broadened.
"How do I love thee?" he whispered, his warm breath tickling her ear. He ran his fingers lightly up and down her arm, leaving a trail of pleasurable shivers on her skin. "Let me count the ways."
"I love thee to the depth and breath and height my soul can reach…" He gently caught her wrist and turned her around to face him, "when feeling out of sight for the ends of being and ideal grace."
He was carrying a lighted taper, which he set down on the table next to her. Its flickering flame allowed her to see the adoration in his eyes when he looked at her. He smiled slightly and put a finger on her lips to silence her greeting, "I love thee to the level of every day's most quiet need." His free hand caressed her cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "By sun and candlelight."
"I love thee freely, as men strive for right," he told her, releasing her wrist and tapping the butt of her service weapon gently. She removed the holster and placed it on the table, sliding it out of sight underneath the cloth-covering of the vase. It would be safe there until she could secure it in the lockbox upstairs.
"I love thee purely," he said, taking her hand and stepping away from her, but not breaking eye contact, "as they turn from praise." He picked up the candleholder again and tugged gently on her hand. She followed willingly.
He guided her down the darkened hall of their domicile, towards the back of the house. As they moved down the corridor, he blew out candles that lighted their way as they passed, leaving a gentle darkness behind them.
"I love thee with a passion put to use in my old griefs," he murmured, drawing her into the glass-walled room, "and with my childhood's faith."
There was a table set for two in the center of the solarium, with a centerpiece of white roses clustered around the base of a silver three-branched candelabrum, its flames casting a soft flickering light into the night sky. He carefully placed the lighted candle on the low cabinet that ran along the length of the only solid wall in the room. He pulled her close for a quick kiss. She laughed softly when they broke apart. He smiled, and then led her over to the table before releasing her hand.
"I love thee with a love I seemed to lose with my lost saints," he whispered, briefly caressing her cheek with a hand. With a quick glance at her, he reached into the flower arrangement.
"I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears of all my life." His hand shook a little as he withdrew it from underneath the flowers. She looked at him questioningly as he turned back to face her.
"And…" he said softly, opening his hand, letting her see what he held in the palm of his hand, "if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death."
The warm gold sparkled in his hand, and blurred in her eyesight before she looked up at him.
There was a question in his eyes.
There was an answer in her radiant smile.