Honey

Dear you

I want to write for you some of the poetry that sings inside me just because you're you. I want to say simple words that seem enormous enough to encompass love, as though I could pin down the million quicksilver emotions that love is to me.

I want to tell you that for all these years, I have had a tiny, untrammelled joy when I heard your name, that the small thoughts of you that have entered my life have seemed bright rays of sunshine in storms, and caresses when I have known calm.

I am fractured and broken, ugly and scarred. I am only fragments of a man but you are the warm glue that pours into my cracks and makes me feel for a moment whole, and I can dream that wholeness is a possibility. I am cast down, always weeping, and you are a cloth that mops up the tears and you raise me up. You have made me believe I am big enough to be loved, that enough remains, despite the blows of fate and the humblings of a life that bites, scratches and tears at me, that you can find good.

How beautiful you are! I could, if you would permit it, sit and watch you for hours. I would kiss you endlessly and never think of the hours that passed. I find you beautiful in every way. You were luscious when we were young together -- juicy and fresh, so sweet to the taste -- and you have ripened into rare gold. I have never wanted anyone as much as I want you. It is like someone parched my throat and now you are the only drink that will quell my thirst.

The song I sing will say you are beautiful, and I defy the world to condemn me for saying so. I defy the world to condemn me for loving you. What do they know, unless they know how it has been for you to warm me? You are the pear in my tree, the sweet fruit that life has brought forth. Who could not love you?

This is the song I sing about the love of my life.

I want them to write it, inscribe it, cast it in lead; I want to live a life that glorifies me simply so you can be glorified too. I want them to write in my book that he did what he could, that he tried and failed, maybe, but tried all the same, and he loved you. I want that written in my book; settle it there now and it will never be scrubbed out.

D.

posted by Dr Zen @ 10:12 pm