Love

Love,
How is it that you live in me?
When did you take up residence?
And what is it about this broken house that keeps you inside?

The roof leaks.
The stairs,
They creak.
There is a mournful howling of wind at times,
Outside my windows…
It can make it hard to sleep.

It must be the fire.

The fire that always glows
In my soul
For him.

He is made of water, Love.
Can you see him through my eyes?
There. Over there. Yes, Him.
The tranquil man whose hands are gentle.
Do you see his smile?
His dark lashes?

When his eyes are closed,
They create the image of a crescent moon
Upon his skin.
Adorning cheek,
A whispy fringe,
Lovely.

And when he is amused…
When he is amused by something I’ve said,
He laughs,
And,
His eyes, Love,
They flash like twinkling stars, I tell you.

You know…
I had not realized…

My lover’s face reflects
The evening sky.
Fringe of lash,
Laughing eyes,
He is moon and stars to me.

That must have been when you moved in.
You must have caught the fragrance,
Of my cinnamon sigh upon the wind.

You must have heard the humming
Of the melody
that tickles my lips
As I walk through life,
Focused and Distracted.

You followed the soft silk trail
Of discarded daisy petals
On the green of earth,
Didn’t you.

“He loves me…
He loves me not…
He loves me…
He loves me not…
He loves…”

You followed the white
And saw my smile,
And took a peek
Inside of me
To find…

A little hook
To hang your coat,
A simple shelf
To place your hat,
And there,
Near the sofa,
Near the heirloom rug purchased in an antique store,
You saw the fire.
The fire burning brightly
In my breast for him,
And said,
“I am home.”

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