It astounds me
The way it sounds to me
When you almost-bitterly laugh,
Like it's so ridiculous and you're not quite
Getting the point or the question,
But you laugh anyway,
Because it's obvious to you when you explain
"I brag about you."
Or
"Because I love you."

And there's an edge to your voice,
But it's almost delightful,
It's a type of sharp warmth,
A type of stinging comfort.

It astounds me
The way it sounds to me,
When your voice is loving and gentle,
When you're understanding and kind.

And it's astounding
That you found me,
Whistling and singing and humming,
Amid the ashen trees and soot-stained grasses.

And among ever light step you took towards me
I would flit and fly away,
Leaving a trail of violet and daffodil petals in my wake.
But you perched in my tree,
And I buzzed and hummed along your trail to me,
And upon finding me and the burning embers
Of the fires I have a tendency to ignite,
You captured the remains of my heart
That you didn't already have,
And when I took to the sky,
You followed suit,
With a flight pattern a little more sensible,
A little more practiced than mine.
As though you were much more prepared
For the oncoming tidal waves of feelings,
Than I was for the familiarity of them.