I have two words.

Snow.

You fill my mind with the sort of rapture that comes from falling snow— the way you look up and it swirls down like cold petals.
There’s a wild wonderment from something so simple:
it transforms the stark nakedness of the earth; the dead forests
and empty fields become whole and alive again with the powder.

Bloom.

You made my winter unfurl itself like a magnolia tree, crackled branches, then  frenzied blossoms cutting up my line of vision, hiding the ugly.