Your voice and the color of your tone
Plays on repeat in my head,
And I'm stuck, stuck, stuck,
On everything I should have said.

Sometimes I'm a broken record,
And that's okay, that's kinda neat,
At least I'm a record at all,
Vinyl just won't admit defeat.

I'm glass work,
Built by wind and flame and coarse earth,
To create something so fragile and beautiful,
With colors spiraled about.

You are cold metal,
Only warm with the heat of my skin
Holding you tight.
Built from the iron of the blood from 4000 grown men,
And water and heat and other bits of science and smithing I don't quite understand.

I am air,
Soft and warm but cool in the heat of summer,
Gently kissing leaves, wind chimes, and your face in the humidity
In order to allow you to breathe again.
I am the harsh winds of a hurricane,
Destroying all in its path,
Reducing houses and homes to shrapnel and rubble and dust.
I am your first breath of fresh, cold winter air, when you cannot breathe
Because it was all too much, too much, and you're too young to really know why.
I am cold but comforting, there and real without being seen or known.
I am the whisper within the trees, from the waters, carrying smoke along my back to warn you of danger.

You are earth.
Steadfast and solid,
Stubborn and real.
Honest.
You are the rocks and stones that hold meaning and power within their pools of color and opaque surfaces.
You are the avalanche of boulders and pebbles that fall and destroy
All that so choose to come in its' path.
You are the soft soil in which you urge new life to grow,
Within soft and gentle hands, urging it forward and through the surface,
So that all may look in awe of its' beauty,
While you are wrapped tight around its roots so that you may protect
And nurture it with all that you are.

I am the color that spirals through your heart and within noise,
I am the burst of soft light that grows too large, too bright, too quickly,
And I am simultaneously too much and not enough.

And you are soft and stark shades of gray and black,
Pooling in to balance the colors that I have poured everywhere,
Adding definition and understanding
Of why they are what they are,
You are just in time and you are just right.

Thoughts of you are warm and lulling me to sleep.
Thoughts of me are dizzying and overpowering.

There's not much to what I have to say,
It could be said softly,
"I love you,"
Or loudly,
"My love for you is vastly infinite, more so than the universe, and more so than the expanse of the mind."

Your voice and the color of your tone
Plays on repeat in my head,
And I'm stuck, stuck, stuck,
On everything I should have said.