All Mine

Poetry spares too few words,

and songs end too quickly,

for a love that finally

encompasses worlds

and stretches time--

this love, a love that is all mine.

I wish to write and to write

for you, enough lines

to know what it has been like--

to bask, and to bathe

in the warmth, that light

that you make for me,

day after day after day.

You bring me skies,

you bring me rain,

away from the cities,

and back again,

thunderstorms, and raging seas,

open fields, and urban highways,

yes, in every weather,

and every time of day,

everywhere we stay,

you are my safe place,

my stronghold, my solace.

You hold me, and you calm me

as I flail, and I fall,

my tears and my pain

you catch them all,

in the palms of your hands,

your beautiful, strong hands

that protect me, and hold true

every single promise from you.

These metaphors I may have used

in some previous time, lost and confused,

embroidering many a broken poem--

the hundreds and hundreds of them,

torn apart, then threaded together anew

into this patchwork of poetry of all that I knew

about love-- and everything that it defined

for this weary, broken heart of mine--

They were all written, leading up to you.

So, let me write more and more lines,

perhaps the end of it I shall not let you see,

because for a love that promises infinity,

poetry spares too few words,

and songs end too quickly,

for a love that finally

encompasses worlds

and stretches time--

this love is a love that is all mine.