|
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.
| 
