If my fingertips were full of art
like I had so hoped they were once
I would paint a mural between your shoulder blades.

I would show you how the stars have been brighter,
how the minutes move faster,
and how my tears, though still numerous,
have been gentler
with you.

But all I can give you are these words
the same three,
whispered
shouted
laughed.

Because they are the only things I can say
when all the
gratitude
gratefulness
joy
security
rushes to my mind.

So I will push the knots from between your shoulders,
trace your muscles with my
fingertips
lips
breath
and hope that
"I love you"
paints as beautiful a picture on the backs of your eyelids
as it does mine.