Something I read of you tonight,
Some sweet tapestry of gentle words interwoven with my name,
Resonated particularly deliberate and intentional in the
Hollow beneath my chest and
Something tells me that you can read my mind as easily as
I can fall in love with yours.
I’m sorry if you felt my own detachment
(About time! That was my intention, Love)
And I’m sorry if it hurt you
But to be able to read or hear or feel the simple declaration: “I care”
To me
From you
Is all I’ve ever asked for.
I am crying now, only casually, because I found the messages
In your poem and it is as if all the reservations I experience
In distant moments of doubt and uncertainty are unfairly
(Conveniently, though, for the sake of both of our souls)
Washed away at the last possible minute and romance is revived anew.
You’ve no possible inkling as to what tonight’s professions have done for me
All over again.
Or perhaps you do, as I suspect.
I needed those words, for I was running out of remarkable gifts
To take with me to bed at the end of the night,
And those words have set me for at least the upcoming week
With a comfort I’ve no name for.
I’m telling you right now, Darling,
I pray the muses of Cupid from the heavens
Constantly sing to you
The soreness in my heart from all these secrets I’ve been bottling.
I pray they buzz around your head and
At the edge of your dreams so that you wake up with a want
To find your way into my heart again.
I love you infinitely and irrevocably and ceaselessly—
My sentiments have become tangible and definite and irreversible because of
Something I read of you tonight.