I know it exists.I haven’t felt it in human form just yet.
I hold out and continue my work,Making choices to abstain fromRelationships of all sorts—Particularly ones labeled stepping stones as suchTo the greatest love story ever felt or touched
Because these days, I have become hers, and she, mine—The keepers of our own light.
But I know it exists.
An extravagantly peaceful love.When I think of you, I touch my lips,Scarlet heat boiling up from all the places of youI have yet to know, discover, and be acquainted with.But I know it exists.
A man who couldn’t fathom a tear shed on his account,And if liquid gold ever fell upon my cheeks,He’d quickly retrieve it,Placing that moisture upon his own face—For close is never close enough to him.
And Spanish guitar is the backdrop to our days.
We welcome seasons of rain,If only to cry, to shed, to be made brand new again.
And we quarrel, and we play—In Rome, Geneva, and Spain.
We exist in places where breath aloneIs our private ecstasy.
Yes, pain resides, as it always does,And we take it in—Lost jobs, birthed babies, gravesites.But we never let pain win in the end.
Because here, in this life with you,that really exists a place for two, souls to meet—To face all sides: good and bad,evil and blind,Where we fall apart and build back up.
But in that same extravagant love that brought me to you—And I will muster the words on my deathbed,When it’s all through,That I’m glad I waited patiently for you.
Lips burn in a sacred, unexplainable intelligence that…It really does exist.
