Here
       in
          your
                 arms,
this is my universe.

You are the stars, and my heart is yours, always, my dear.
This is the very definition of heaven on Earth.
The very definition of true happiness.
The very definition of true love.

As we roll around in
                                sheets
                       ­                 of
                                            infinity,
I can’t help but wonder:
How did I get so **** lucky?

I was the sea and you were the whaler.
You cast your harpoon into my waters.
It never did catch a whale.
But you caught me time and time again.

I love the thought of being the
             first
                    in
                       your
                            thoughts.
I truly admire the idea of being the
               pioneer
                      in
                       your  
                            mind.
And if I am not the pioneer in your mind, then surely, I am the pioneer in your heart!
I know this to be true by the way you look at me with your twisting, dark eyes.
The light that rests there is the light I put there.
And I will
                 cherish
                           that
                                 first
                                       forever.

I begged you to forgive the tears that rolled down my cheeks when I saw you again.
It has been so long and I’d almost forgotten the contour of your face in the moonlight.
If not for short notice, I’d have missed you again.
We always run in different circles, but tonight we seemed to cross paths.
You remembered every detail about me, love. Where to kiss, where to touch.
But every time we spend time apart, I forget where the treasure is buried in you.
Though, now I am beginning to realize it’s not in your body, but your soul.
Let this night be one to remember, not one to regret.
My dear, on the cold, bleak December evening, don’t you dare forget what I said to you when you held me closer than any clothes ever could do.
Don’t make me regret saying I loved you.

Can you take me flying?  
                              Like we once did?
                                    Could you take my hand and throw me to
                           the sky with you at my heels?

I fear I am sitting still,  like a lake gone stagnant.  
                                      And I want to feel the waves in my bones,
                  the wind in my sails,  again.

So let me fly, my dear, for I fear if I cannot touch the sun,  again, my spark will go out,  for good.

She lay on the ground, dirt collecting on her bones and in her hair.
Feathers and twigs scatter around her as the raven builds its nest.
A gentle breeze stirs up leaves around her.
It never served her to have a heart of gold.

Rock n’ roll music, Folger’s, and paint-smeared hands.
Dresser drawers filled to the brim with undeveloped camera film.
Blue bonnets and overgrown grass, pecans and crunching fall leaves.
Dirt roads and river-rocks, typewriters, polaroid cameras, and feather-quill pens.
Those hand-me-down blue eyes and brown ones that are “sometimes hazel.”
Crystal clusters and Lord of the Rings.
Countless mosquito bites and play-pretend games in the clubhouse.
Early-birds and night-owls.
Trudy; and Randy Hayes.
“Don’t touch everything you see,” and “If you say you’re bored, I’ll find work for you to do.”
Sweet tea and okra and southern dishes blackened and drenched in cheese or gravy.
Grandma always burned everything to make sure it was fully cooked, and to her, it was never burned, just “well-done.”
Cigarettes and carpentry and cookbooks. Wild blackberries and birthday parties at the lake.
Sleeping in all day and staying up all night and procrastination.  
Shepherd's Pie, potatoes, and four-leaf clovers.
“Nil Desperandum. Never Despairing.”  
I’m from a whole house that eats eggs for breakfast, and I’m allergic to eggs.
And trees as tall as buildings and buildings as tall as trees.
“You should never take the lord’s name in vain,” and “Jesus loves you, so you should love others.”
Day-dreams and stargazing and thunderstorms.
“All or nothing,” and “There is no try, only do.”
Old family pictures in dust-glittered frames.
We are crystals. We have facets, each one makes us who we are.
With only one window of our lives to express, we’d merely be glass.
I am a part of each of these things just as much as they are each a part of me.