For every
cigarette smoked
on your front steps.
For every
scorn and sigh
put out
by your reckless
and willful desire
to construct
temples
and virtues
on the inside
of my mind.

I put my hands
on a beauty
and she woke
up a deity.
Her ancient
hands
a simple touch was
all I needed
to free
the story
of millions.
A tale of
bravery
and of love
where only
endless flowers
could grow.

Follow
the light
to her door
run your hands
down her rocky spine
know how
the earth
feels as a stranger,
as a careful
confidante.

Oh,
the warmth
it feels right
at this angle.
Filling the
sediment
with a peculiar
kind of glow
an aftermath
of constellation
grounded firmly
in her form.

If I had known
that beauty
had existed like
her eyes
clearing cobwebs
and caverns
of my grief
I would have
found her
and danced with
her just beneath
the echoed waters
where she waited
just for me.

If I had known
of the path
leading right to
her door
I wouldn't have
waited
so long
to write this poem
just for her.