I have had too much wine
and I write to you…
your red hair spills like flame
across my thoughts,
a light I do not chase,
only follow.
Your smile,
a hearth I return to
without question.
Your words,
gentle as the tide,
enough to warm
this long, cold night.
And so
I let it be.
No forcing the current,
no rushing the sun.
Just one day,
then another,
on and on,
until whatever this is
becomes what it’s meant to be.
I have loved you in ways I cannot name,
in lifetimes I cannot remember,
yet I know you, always,
as if the universe herself
has written us into the stars,
over and over again.
Yet every day,
he takes what should be mine,
his presence invisible,
but felt in every word,
every glance,
and I am left here,
waiting in the silence
for the pieces of you
that he hasn’t yet claimed.
Night brings you without apology.
You lie beside my thoughts
as if you have always belonged there,
as if forgetting were a language
my body never learned.