Writing Her

During the day she passed her fingers through her hair to find the poem he weaved her in the darkness of the night…

From the womb
of the night
the stars I plucked,
with poetry for a thread
into a quilt I weaved them,
then, with tender hands,
with this sea of quivering light
I dressed you,
bathing your skin,
soaking your soul,
wild embers dancing
as they entered your bloodstream
to gather in your heart and womb,
my sun, moon, and stars
populating you,
my poetry in endless bursts
of exceeding gentleness filling you,
your face a radiant pond
of sunshine, moonlight, starlight,
water so pure
where life comes to drink
and is blessed, overjoyed.

One thought on “Writing Her

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