My love is a gardenia between silk sheets:

A single bloom behind cloistered walls,

A whisper that echoes in endless halls.

My love is a gossamer spider’s web,

A wave of tumultuous sea never to ebb.

My love is a secret grotto, a silent garden:

A place where the world is still and empty,

A hollow center of fired clay left to sit in

My love is a single ring of unpolished stone,

A ruby with red never given to the sun

A pearl of great price shown to none.

I love you in little ways, in crooked touch,

In unsaid words and longing looks.

I love you without end, feeling too much,

In ways that no verse ever unhooks.

I love you as a clinging vine loves light,

In subtle touch and fragile gifts.

I love you as daytime falls to night,

In gravity with a center that never shifts.

I love you when madness spins closer yet,

In doubtful circles and questioning lines.

I love you though I am on all sides beset,

In spite of ancient pain and bleeding signs.

I love you as never you could love me.

I love you as an empty soul set free.