It is difficult to adequately describe
how one loves. Sometimes,
it is little more than a feeling.
Other times, it is all-consuming,
burning and rippling through a soul
I am fascinated, drawn to each
quirk, each characteristic that
makes him whole.
When did that strand of hair,
the constellations on his back,
the subtle scent of his neck
become my everything?
I know now that love is comprised
of little things, like sacrifice, the ache
in my heart that no one sees, and
the spaces between our fingers.
Time went on, and our innocence wore down
in storms of tears and fury
as the morning air grew cold.
We strayed like crackling, falling leaves –
leaves no longer gold.
We met in fields of amber before the winter glow, and
those shades of fiery autumn were
glorious, you know.
On your worst days,
I will strengthen you and become the bones in your legs
when your knees begin to buckle.
I am the peeling birch's bark, bending in your shadow
to lightly brush your skin. I am the nectar in the myrtles
blooming in July, and in the eyes of your love when he looks at you.
Though we are separated by time and space, know that I am never farther than the pulse in your palm.
Know that I am more than what they make of me in churches, in books, in government, in theory. I have a
plan for you.
I am your God.
I am never far away, and
even when you lose faith in me,
I will never lose faith in you.
She feels safest within her self-proclaimed limits
that affect her own transparency in the mirror.
And so, mere books to most
Become, up close, rectangular windows
Of the soul of a small-town girl.