with your salty tears on my tongue
and your “I don’t know what’s wrong with me” piled onto the threshold of love
and your nurse by night but Wedding Planner by day and fellow storyteller in a world of broken tales.
There was poetry in the way your ratty hair was tied up in knot upon knot upon knot, held together by a tightly woven bun, just waiting for my trembling fingers and awed hands to gently comb it through.
and the the creased lines of your cheeks said “I love you” even before your fingers seized mine with feminine strength.
There was poetry in the way you awkwardly kissed me as we twirled around the room to one John Mayer song after another
and in the way you looked up at me with those dancing green eyes, in them the promise of time well-wasted, if only for the next thirty seconds as I crashed your anxious brow into my strong and patient chest and murmured love.
There was poetry in the way your crinkled nose pushed up against my cheek and held the frustration and desire and pinned wings of love in perfect awful tension, my heart racing and mind wandering.
And if the poetic soul is as I’ve written before:
simply words written, standing
alone, containing silent sound, unleashed
when pronounced, reverberating in human hearts.
Then you are God’s poem, reverberating in my heart.