Pressing Engagement
"Mary Claire, please listen to me carefully." He spoke deliberately.
He had her attention. He took her by her hand, pressing it lovingly.
"Yes?" she replied, expectantly.
"I've watched you from afar. I've watched you near. I've been at points between, over and under, to and fro. Here, there, everywhere…and beyond. From every vantage point, you reach into my eyes with only the loveliest of visible grace. When I look at you, I stop in my tracks, for I must not simply see you. I must stare!"
He was still holding her hand lovingly. She could feel the transmission of his adoration through his intertwining fingers.
"Your voice sings to me in a complex melody that harmonizes with the Music of the Spheres. God Almighty, Himself, is involved here. I can hear it. God is Love and you are His love song."
He pressed her hand affectionately, and she felt irradiated in his sentiment.
"Yours is a fragrance that defines my life, my ambitions, my hopes, and my dreams. A scent like yours transcends the most delicious perfumes ever molecularly combined for Woman. I inhale you and become one in your heavenly ambiance — an apotheosis of communion."
Her hand was her concavity to his convexity; the yin to his yang; a softening to his rigidity; and a woman to a man.
"Yours is the taste of ambrosia, distilled by the gods, themselves; such flavor is filtered through decanters of gold, precious stones, and a sieve of the finest cosmic string fabrics left over from Creation. When I taste you, the rest of the world sours, but I take heart, because you cleanse my palate with purity and the sublime. Tasting you is taking Holy Communion!"
Her hand in his — a tandem being, breathing as one: inhaling each other and exhaling the poisons of the world. Mind’s eye gazing into mind’s eye. Believing only a real seeing can consummate.
“When we embrace,” he continued, “I am making love to the Sun! Heaven and Earth stop. The gears of Time itself grind to a halt and space rips in order to bestow and focus the attention a union such as ours deserves.”
She could no longer feel the separateness of her hand from his. She had become one with him, joined at their palms’ lifelines, awaiting the spiritual journey roadmapped within the creases and lines of fortuitous portent.
"It is for all of these sensations and identifications with and within you that I now humbly ask for your lovely hand," he squeezed gently, "in marriage."
"Oh, William," she swooned. "You are my original, my unique, my bespoke partner."
"In the interest of transparency," he added, "all of what I said was written by ChatGPT."
"Oh?” she asked, one lovely eyebrow raised. She paused a moment, then asked, “What about your hand?"
"The hand, my love, was all my idea," he replied.
"Then, yes!"