She asked me to write her a happy poem.

Me, a natural disaster trying to write about the sun?

Yes, I found her, Liv.

The one who’s orange brilliance pushes through even my most treacherous storms.

Exhausted and still burning. The one who loves me with purpose.

Her shards of lustrous flame carve across my palo santo sky like red tattoo ink dancing on murky water.

She taught me that cats and rabbits can learn to fall in love if you let them.

The food chain is a human construct, love isn’t.

I want to become a red sunset reflecting over the lake too.

Eventually my clouds disperse like fireworks.

Engulfing the sky together against a moon made of chrome.

I’ve never written one before, and now I never need to.

She is my Happy Poem.