A Prose Poem (Pt. 1)

I love the sound of the ocean when you brush through your short hair. I love the murky peridot balls sitting beneath your blackened eyelids. I love the gray things, the soft things, that fuzz up my image of him. I love the dusk and how it outlines your coming. I love the cold ice in your sunflower glass that's long past melting. I love the spirit's breath that keeps every time you go. I love the subtle confusion wrought by your evening curves. I love you and your casual likeness and how you have accepted me.