the curve of your cheek
is the completion
the source
the pulse beneath your skin
is the unfazed thrum
of spacetime in perfect sync
of elegant truths waiting to be known
there are galaxies colliding
atoms fusing
and zygotes merging
there are dewdrops
where tardigrades hunt rotifers
while the world evaporates around them
likewise you and I
exist in this moment
all at once familiar
and undiscovered
my ring was lost a couple days
long ones because we were at odds
searching for it became a quest
to quash a more pervasive angst
that I might be the enemy
of my own contentment and joy
and much more significantly
the source of her unhappiness
my wife, from within her own pain
absolved me as a saint wouldn't
allowing the faults at my core
to just be cracks in the timbers
of a ship she still chose to trust
a leaky deck she stood upon
as always, defying the world
the mutinous new commander
charting the course when I lose it
refusing to let the sea win
by the time I found the damned thing
she'd reminded me why I wear it:
with her the stars are undying
for she personally lights them
to carry the both of us safe
back to the home we've created
slicing banana
to put in the cereal
recalling mornings
grandparents shared bananas
in quiet companionship
grace in her fingers
her thoughts percussing
from keyboard to screen
grace in her colors
riotous pink hair
and splotches of alabaster
adorning her limbs
grace in the moment
when the teapot drags with exhaustion
but she lifts it anyway
to pour me a cup
grace in her shoulders
which will soften beneath my lips
when the work of the day is finished
it is then I will whisper a love song
to remind her once again of my reverence
for the woman whose every movement
lays grace upon my hearth
water clinking melodically down the gutters
a truck rolls its tires on the curb, reverses and starts again
the tabby cat is absent from the neighbor's window
these things I notice
while hurtling through space
at 66,600 miles per hour
For Amie.
my woman made of star stuff
drops galaxies within me
where they burn and swirl in sync
with the rhythm of her step
my woman made of star stuff
catches the lamplight
in the crook of her elbow
inviting me to kiss her just there
my woman made of star stuff
wraps her lanky limbs
around my pudgy frame
and makes me beautiful
my woman made of star stuff
refuses, REFUSES to watch movies
in anything but their original format
going pink with passion explaining this
my woman made of star stuff
weeps with heartbreak
and honors me by letting me comfort her
when life flops to the floor in tatters
my woman made of star stuff
moves with sweet defiance
through a world of hostility
rather than hide in safety
my woman made of star stuff
drops galaxies within me
where they burn and swirl
and etch her name
into the fabric of my space
the breath of my time
