Love,
with You,
never feels like labor.
Your veins thread themselves
into my lungs
leaving me gasping for more…
of You.
You.
You are a week’s worth of goodness
breathing life into eternity.
One
If I could count the ways
You’ve made my heart skip a beat,
I’d catalogue each murmur
like obsessive compulsive librarians
and cross reference each goosebump,
making sure that all is accounted for.
But even if I triple checked my work,
I imagine I’d still get lost in the arithmetic.
Four,
I mean,
Two
You speak sonnets into existence
on the 14th day of February.
You hire haikus to lower my heart rate
to 17 beats per minute.
And your iambic pentameters
are mathematical superheroes
with the powers of 10.
Three
Stars illuminate
at Your soliloquies.
Oceans tear up with joy
as You conduct orchestras
of ostriches into beauty.
And the Son shines brighter than
love like two dilated novas
colliding for the first time.
Four
You call me to you like a rotary phone
that doesn’t understand answering machines.
Your voice is more decadent
than chocolate cake at midnight.
But Your truth stings sometimes
so I let the voicemail pick up
more times than I should.
Five
I wear You on my tongue
because I can’t stomach anything else.
I wear Your glasses just to see
others for the beauty that they are.
Your Word is a delicate rain storm
wearing itself like an old itchy sweater
on a parched summer afternoon in July.
Six
You leave my inhalers breathless.
You camouflage my depression
in the depths of your chest.
It’s
Green with envy.
And You lift me steady
like energetic flatlines
proving once more
that broken pieces
can always be put back together.
Seven
You have a way with words.
Your Spoken Words bring life.
Your flattery actually takes me places.
You are the rage in encouragement
and You intensify my love for You.
You see me for who I am
and You cheer me on like pom poms.
You rest in the busyness
that has become my life.
And whenever You look me in the eyes,
You softly whisper
“My love,
my love.
You.
You
are very
good!”
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