Love, a home

A lovelovelove poem!

My beloved, forged from sunlight
his curls prominent like the tide gripping the shore
or petals unfurling from heavy drops of rain.

His skin is warm, certain, the nature of ancient belonging, lips ripe like moonlit plums, two mouths gulping down the night like nothing.

His hands runs along the river, a silver thread coming undone and pooling in his palm. I float along the waves, bend to his touch like trees kneel to storms, like fields of poppies swaying in the wind.

In the season of lilacs perfuming the breeze, we too unfurl our petals to become. We are a rose bush exploding with pale pink every early june, soft petals falling to the earth like tiny prayers. As we return to our bodies, relief crowns our heads, the heart unravels in its cage, we will fall asleep in ribbons, knowing we have made a home out of love.

In the shadow of us there are two children running, bare feet in the grass, wild curls and green dungarees, one with earth elements and the other of fire.

They know nothing of heartbreak or death, they only know flowers, lady bugs and elves favourite pastries. They insist on bringing pine cones and sticks into the house, you make them swords out of branches and I carve their names into the hilt.

Little me never knew she would find the little you, so I let them play in the woods until nightfall. They return in time for dinner and they speak of trolls and mermaids underneath the kitchen light, we are enamoured by their wonder. Home is where love blooms for every part of ourselves we have outgrown. Even the parts we do not know just yet. As we fall asleep that night, it is quiet, certain, and we know nothing except for love, flowers, lady bugs and what to feed the elves when they visit.

---