Tuesday, February 11, 2020

Hearth-Fire


I know every inch of her body and face,
every crease and dimple, every curve and slope.
My chest remembers the weight of her head.
The scent of her hair is in my nose forever.
Her touch vibrates through my veins.
Her heartbeat echoes in my ears.
The shape of her smile and the color of her eyes
are more beautiful to me
than any Michelangelo, or Van Gogh
or Da Vinci.
                      But, more than that,
I have taken the full measure of her soul,
so that now I know where I belong:
Her soul is limitless, infinite,
a circle with its center everywhere.
And in the center of the center,
at her soul’s very core,
a hearth-fire burns eternally
without consuming, only warming.
Before the hearth-fire is a braided rug,
woven from the memories that we’ve created,
and the secrets we have shared,
and the dreams we hope to make come true.
And upon this rug I lay myself,
and warm myself, and know that I am home.

I belong.

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