A Good Love

I love the way he undresses.

Not in a seductive manner,

but when he tugs his pants over his heels

and the cuffs get caught on his socks

and he wobbles on one foot.

I love when I reach for my alarm

and he clutches me closer.

As if he can hold us in this bliss forever.

Tangled body parts offering silent,

pure declarations of love.

Because I love him

I can wave good-bye

and be certain that he will return.

I can ask him to smooth the edges

of my anxiety with his thumb.

When I speak I know he hears me,

and when I listen, there is completion.

And there is no judgement when I tell him

about my broken past, the men I knew,

the damage I did to myself.

I love the honesty that flows from his pores

seeping into the sheets and dissolving

the protective walls around my soul.

I built this against previous men,

users, abusers, ghosts.

I love the way he tells me he loves me,

true emotion, raw to the very core

of its origin. Love that is truth.

Love that is beauty and desire.

Love that dreams of future years.

We are adventures not yet had

roads not yet taken.

We are music not yet sung

and steps yet to be made.

We are pieces of time

existing outside the continuum.

We are love.

Bonded in celestial understanding

of each other and ourselves.

We are unity in the face of

war, separation, deception.