Velvets.

Silks.

Diamonds.

Kisses.

A flask carved of emerald, filled with attar of roses.

More kisses.

Dresses.

Three DaVinci sketches of her face, quarter view, full view, three quarter view, lost to the world for three hundred years.

A black Jaguar.

Immortality.

After a thousand years of birthday presents, what is left to give?

What do you get for the woman who has everything?

What can you do for the woman who is everything?

The prodigal demands time, the loyal, only kisses. I am sure she understands.

But . . .

I sought her out and told her I loved her no less.