did you know, azaleas only bloom in the shade.
she's much like that,
bundled in argyle sheets on my couch
with her hair up
and golden hoops in her ears
little red nailpolish on the tips of her fingers,
the colour of Mother Earth on her skin,

she's just like a bouquet of wild petals
spilling heirlooms of universal beauty
upon this room
my eyes
and my soul.

i wonder when it was
i noticed
my relationships with family
and friends
had started to become warmer
kinder,
Gentler. she is--subtle ethereal
change
touching up the darkness
in there, the mystery of
where my heart had gone.
where the good remained.
she is turning the furniture inside
gold.
everything she touches
turns to gold.
she is like Midas.

her laugh
is like spring rain,
she is blooming
blooming
on my couch

delivered through the seasons
without being tainted by
the autumns,
and the winters, someone
else's hand
had never been allowed
none of this
world
had reached her.


in pure,
untouched
uncorrupted
rapture,
my fingers are the first
to trace the contours
and the painted lines
that form her cheeks
and her hips,
i am the luckiest man on earth.
i am in love.