Still Waiting

We spoke for 62 minutes today.

We spoke while I cruised through a McDonald’s Drive-thru.

We spoke as I checked the tire pressure on my car

And complained about the sensor light coming on again.

We spoke as I ate, long pauses as I chewed. 

We spoke as I perused the news.

In 62 minutes today we had to condense 24 hours of our marriage.

It was not enough. 

To connect. 

To be intimate. 

To describe our day. 

To explain what needs to be done. 

To discuss our child. 

To exalt over her achievements.

It can never be enough.

In 62 minutes every day for the past 300 days.

How do we stay in touch?

Phone conversations.

Video calls.

Emails.

And thousands of texts that simply say

I love you

And

Wait for me.

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This Is It

We’ve been here before.

We have left the realm of the unknown.

 

This is day to day,

This is your job,

This is the commitment I understood.

 

We are so close,

I know where we go from here.

I know how to feel from here.

 

We have lived in this span of space

have reached across this arc of time

and found each other again on the other side.

The Measure of My Worth

I have reached inside my soul

and found that I am lined in gold.

It fills the cracks and fissures,

the erosion of my tears through troubled years.

It formed in veins, snaking over heart and mind

steeling them against the harsher times.

And my value cannot be seen by prying eyes

I’ve hidden away what makes it a prize.

It’s yours to take, yours to see

because you’ve always only seen the best in me.

 

Going Down in Flames

Baby, we were fire

Engulfed in each other’s sight

The tendrils of your flame

Set my soul alight.

Brittle, broken tinder

Littered my insides

A spark from you, a cinder,

caused me to ignite.

The friction building in whispers

In the velvet of deep twilight

Erupted, spewing embers,

Molten lava, melting frigid night.

Did you feel the burning?

Did it scald and scar your skin?

Can you see the marks of yearning,

the brands you left behind?

Baby, we were an inferno,

temperatures rising,

enveloping and blinding.

How did we survive it?

Two As One or the Red String Runs Taunt

He is to me the foam upon my sea

Billowing up from my depths to ride on waves

Stretching towards the beachy barriers

Pulling back to chase horizons.
He has become as flesh to my bone

Gripped by ligament, sinew, muscle

All sewn together with veins 

Destruction of part forever marring the whole.
To separate us would mean to rend my soul

To divide my life’s blood from my lungs

My heart from my tongue

Told to thrive within a shriven corpse.
Physiologically whole but dissected 

All the same.

Distance is a Myth and This Too Will Become a Tale Someday

Poseidon in his watery prison has loved Selene from afar, turning his tides to draw her gaze upon him.
And Selene hung upon the velvet canvas of night unable to sink into the salty waves from her lofty height blinks slowly with regret, filling her vision with the peaked foam depths. 

I love you like the ocean loves the moon, the sight of her in the night sky roiling the ocean into tidal frenzies.

I love you with the eternal pattern of nature, unwavering and confident in the reassurance of return. 

I love you with the eternal intent of gods and the immortal imperviousness of our souls.

I love you as I have always and will always love you, in lives since passed and lives to come, and in that space of afterlife, our Heaven ensnared in each other’s eyes. 

And long before the goddess took up residence beside the empty cratered lake to stand guard over far off blue green seas and long after those seas have ebbed eternally too heavy and ancient with geological burden I have, I will, love you.

My Love Tells Me I Am Beautiful…

When the gray mornings of a humid, drizzly day cause my hair to frizz and fray.

When my tears leech through my mascara darkened eyelashes in black rivulets down my cheeks.

Before I wash the night’s sleep from my face .

Standing under the harsh truthfulness of white fluorescent lights.

When the stress of the day bows his shoulders down like Atlas.

When the night is dark and the moon has shut its eye to steal the little light it gives.

When I dressed all in white and took his hands for life.

When he wiped the sweat from my brow with the edge of my ugly hospital gown.

When my nose is red and I can’t stop coughing and fever blurs my eyes.

When his voice cuts in and out from the strain of transmitting from thousands of miles away.

When he hasn’t even seen my face for several weeks on end.

My love tells me I am beautiful even when I don’t deserve it. 

My love tells me I am beautiful and I am starting to believe him.

Because when he tells me I am beautiful it isn’t what he’s seeing, my love tells me I am beautiful because of what he’s feeling.