We leave the biting winter winds to bully
the landscape, the cracked leaves
and stark trees are pushed and shoved,
but we lay in our too-small bed huddled
not for physical warmth, but to welcome
heat from another because at times this union
rises above the praise we offer to the summer sun.

My mind, racing at all the future events that wait
for me, anticipating questions I’ve never known
to ask, conjures flowery images, the two lovers
separated by the whim of the gods, yet
conjoined from an inexplicable desire even
in the dark which sprung from fear and cursed
them into a blind-love.

As I form to your body, I realize,
that as your lips gently find mine over
and over again while you dream of things
I only wish to know, love does not demand
irrefutable brilliance.