Personal God

It was a cold day,
It meant we were happy,
You always liked winters,
Even though they turned your fingertips into Popsicle, 
I made you a warm tea which you sipped,
You looked like a happy child,
Pouting your lips parched with cold,
Over the brim of hot mug,
Then you looked lovingly at me,
The way they show in movies, 
with background Chopin and all,
At that moment,
Which even Proust would envy,
Every memory of beauty swept over me 
like mother over her babe,
I knew i had found my God,
In you

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