above the midnight sun

if love were an appetizer: -a hint of what’s to come- my love leaves you wanting, though i am not sure i could give you anymore.

if love were an entrée: -the main body of a meal- i surely feel my love is eclipsed by nobody but perhaps  Death himself, though i am willing to test  if that is truly so.

if love were a dessert: -the sweetness that lingers for hours after- my love is pure: candy-sweet and light on the tongue. it stays at the back of your throat.

my love could be a feast if  you so wanted. do you?

//

i imagine: my blown kisses caressing your face, love painting your cheeks red; a warmth where there should be none, wrapping itself  around you; and, most importantly,  you accepting my love.

i toss my love into the air and hope the wind sends it to you,  let it fall down on you like snowfall and 

i imagine: your figure spinning and laughing and arms outstretched to catch my love, even when it is too much and buries you up to your knees. 

i imagine: a world where my love wouldn’t need to travel oceans to reach you.

//

i watch.

saplings are planted in your gardenand you bleed for them. you take the knife and prick your fingertips and seethe blood pool and drip and drip anddrip. the darkness of blood becomes indistinguishable from the dirt.

still, i watch.

day by day, the saplings grow taller and fuller.and day by day, your finger bleeds into the grounduntil it stops and you walk away. whispers float on the wind, and the wind tells me that you love meand that i will be great one day.

i can do nothing but watch, rooted as i am.

the saplings are almost too large for transport, but there they are,being loaded into vehicles in large pots and soil. i almost cry for them,but you are there, and i find that i have no rightif your eyes are strong. you take the knife that is always by your sideand i watch as you lift it to your fingertip once more.the soil is empty now, but a single drop spreads on the dirt. 

the light that shines down upon usfrom the silvery moon that makes me wantcatches in your eyes, pretty things they are.sweetheart, only you could make my breath catchlong enough for me to grow faint-heartedand starry-eyed. the way you laugh and smilenever quite pulled at my heart the way it’s pulled now,with your eyes lit up as you talk about somethingor another— this time, i think, it is your darling hatredfor something we both know you adore— and i know,too, that you could never be quite as beautiful as you arenow with your eyes gleaming under the waxing moon.

peace is all around us, my darling—sometimes you just have to search a bit harder for it:feel the grass underneath our feet digging in andtickling as we flex our toes; hear the wind rustlingthose same blades of grass, gentle and soft like whispersbrought to you on one of our nights; the brightnessof the flowers around us, vivid even against the green ofthis field in their beauty; and you, the soft curlof your hair and lips, though they aren’t the same in any way,still bring me to a stutter, and what more could i ask forin this world but to spend just another day with youhere in this peace of ours.

we’re tucked away in a teacup alcove, all sweet-sticky fingers and hungry eyes. there’s so much out there, but here are the warm blankets, the satin-smooth of nagging sleep. there’s so much out there and it’ll still be there if we wait, so i’ll wait — this is enough. (2/2)