Our Own World

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth--
for his love is sweeter than firelight.
Your name is a wild perfume
that lingers long after you’ve gone.
Take me with you; let us run.
The night is ours. The world, forgotten.

You, my beloved, are strength in motion--
your arms a place I rest, not hide.
Your gaze does not question what I am;
it calls me whole. It names me true.
You have seen the map of my becoming
and traced it with wonder, not fear.

I am dark like cedar, soft like dusk.
Do not look away when I speak:
this voice was carved from silence,
but it sings now—because of you.

You are the garden I feared to enter,
the gate I dared not touch.
But you opened like morning,
and I was not burned by your sun.

Your body is a prayer I answer nightly.
Your scars are stars across my sky.
You call me beloved, not mistake.
You call me yours, not afterthought.

Rise up, my love, and come away.
For the winter is over.
The rain is gone. The fig tree blooms.
And we are still here--
holy in our hunger,
sacred in our joy,
made and remade
over and over again.