Champagne Eyes

My lips were like a rusty hinge
creaking and squeaking in the cold night air
letting the neighbors know the gate not been opened since autumn.
She was oil; sweetly scented, reminding me of why lips smile in the first place,
rewarding this wayward traveler for entering that night with the smallest step of faith.
I waited for that moment, out of the blue to summon my courage.
It came at a gentle touch, her hand at my back to break me from my absent thoughts.
I wonder if she knew she was telling me yes?
She reminded me that where there is smoke there is indeed fire;
though her soot, and inky blackness, were nowhere to be found.
A spark of moment, as brief as bright, that somehow held on to light and guide me back home.