Some pretty incredible things come from the dark.

To hear your voice in open air,

My ears would drink in every note,

Savor each tone and peak,

Each melodic one of them,

A string concerto of its own.

If just once, I could taste your perfect lips,

I would study every honeyed, liquid drop,

Each whisper of sugar, every trace of heat,

Lose myself within your breathless kiss,

Headless of the spinning world,

Captured, as time all but stops.

This evening, I watched you sink gently into a slumber with tranquil eyes that drew me in like a copper coin falling into a well. I don’t think I have ever felt so helpless against gravity.

Tonight, I listened to your breathing as I sat with you, separated by what seemed to be an unpassable distance, yet there you were with me, falling softly into your rest.

My selfish desire to remain with you until your breathing changed, until your eyes fluttered into the dream state, waned as shamefulness embarrassed me to relinquish my hold on your wakefulness.

Miracles, those things not understood, the happenings that stand our minds on edge,

The mysterious circumstances that yield endings that aren’t the expected but the instead,

Magic that can be imagined, but what’s outcome could be nothing less than,

A profundity that one bets on, to never come true.

And this is precisely the miracle of you.

For what seems a lifetime I have prayed, entreated, groveled, and begged,

For that which I am witnessing, real and living, within arm’s reach of me,

And though in my wildest dreams I envisioned you, just as you are today,

Regardless of the doubting Thomas-like mindset that forced me to stay,

Somewhat stoic and unexpectant of your placement along my way.

I have been heard, been cared for by heaven, felt, seen, and saved.

I die a thousand times,

Resurrected in every instance,

Born anew in the eternity,

That springs from the blessing,

Of any passing fraction of a moment,

In which your eyes touch the light,

That mine take in,

My perfect, yet ever improving love,

As prisms obsess over light.

Your existence is nourishment to my hope,

Reflections cast from your being,

Color and ignite my life,

As rainbows are due to rain,

As sunflower yearns for the sun,

Rising to it,

You define me to my very name.

You are my only true imperative,

My fulfillment, my taste,

My ambrosia and sweet nectar,

Sweet creme toned lovely skin,

Radiant and sugar glazed,

I wake in the night,

To stirrings in my psyche,

Ghosts of your presence,

Whispers of your scent,

Indentations from your torso,

Pressed, indelibly etched,

Into the feeling part of my mental flesh,

I hear myself murmur,

And it catches me off guard,

Awakening the emotional beasts

That dwell in the legends of my heart,

Dreams that generally consist of,

Wild starlit nights,

Under canopies of green trees,

Like emerald fingers,

Shielding us from the moon,

Time is but an illusion.

The framework of which we lie to ourselves about,

That we avoid but are fatefully drawn toward,

I tend to like ridiculously long prose, epics and writings that go on and on until you are immersed in the dream. However, I like to write the shorter things as well. This is a collection of several shorter things.

And they come for us

Like foot soldiers

Banded at the arm

Hurling cloying obscenities

Like shuriken

To dislodge us

Swiftly, from each other

These fears

Dressed in the skins

Of love-aversed lions

Appealing in semblance to reason

There will be days when you don’t feel beautiful,

I will be there to challenge your vision of yourself.

There will be moments when you find no patience,

I will be there to soften the stretch of time,

You will stir in the night from unsettling dreams,

I will wake you from them and rescue your mind,

Often you will doubt your decisions because you care,

I will make it my duty to listen and observe,

So that I can be your soundboard and help you find clarity.

Because this is the end,
The final and ultimate love,
For us,
And we dare because,
This, we know is righteous,
Therefore, our souls soar above,
The curse of having known,
A love such as this,
That it exists,
Stronger than,
Imagined and discernable things,
That feigned loves crumble from,
The weight of this,
Being the reason for which,
Weaker dreams fail,
The pressure to which,
Lesser loves succumb.

…flinging blackberries in the air.