When the halls of solitude give way to arching gardens it will all be but half-remembered when I’m blinded by your kiss, as bright as a Sunday morning sun all bundled in a fuzzy blanket when you smile like this, gentle and sweet.
You’re as steady as the tides, as consistent as night and day and I know you can already see the lines being traced for the blueprint of our home, I see our future children playing in your line of sight, just a stone’s throw down streams of time.
I know you aim to see heaven on earth, to see Jesus turn water into wine again, to see the downtrodden lifted with an upward spiraling bannister towards eternal bliss and I think that’s why your focus so rarely drifts, you’re a woman who knows the joy of excellence.
So tell me all your days, I’ll mix my love into your morning coffee and into every evening deliberation, into every small yet meaningful consideration.
There’s a drama written in our God-given oxygen, a theology in the curve of your cheek, in the movements of your soul from life to death, movements like a bow drawn along a cello purring with voices low, voices quiet with a vow. And so I make my vows.