I would take her on a picnic.
Some azaleas and begonias in a vase, centered just so on the middle of the blanket.
We would start with boat watching, at which time I would gently nudge beside her, complimenting her hair, her smile, the little way her eyebrows crease when shes mad. She tells me she has never been able to open up to anyone like she has with me.
I feel at ease with her, as if I can give her the greatest gifts of my heart and they will multiply and return with each passing day we spend together. Some Sinatra on the radio floats by, not too loud and not too soft, just enough to dance as two hearts opening like butterflies to the night sky.
Some pinot grigio will set the mood just alight, with a nice batch of brownies slightly wafted with cinnamon and baked to a fine buttery consistency. We would laugh together as the sun died down, slowly exposing the night sky and its jeweled box of stars.
Gently I would caress the tips of her fingers and the back of her neck underneath the ear. Softly I would whisper her name, Jessica, Jessica, Jessica. I would tell her I had no problems caring for her children. In fact, as I am impotent, I would raise them as my own children.
Oh sweet Jessica. The love of the ages, the collected fire of the burning passion of men throughout history and time does not glow with the bright light of desire I have for you.
She could get her hair done, me a a mani pedi.
We would eat ice cream, in fact laughing oh so joyously when it driblled down the side of the cone and onto her favorite green blouse, the faux hood v neck with the swirling butterfly design. I could take her to the Grand Canyon, Las Vegas, and Sicility, but the grandest place I take her will be into my heart as none have done before.
And alas, we shall grow old together, laughing, loving, and crying, until the sun turns black as charcoal and the stars fall from the sky.