The Architect

He loves me quietly.
In a whisper, the way he does everything.
Not loud or boastful.
Not for show or validation.
Quietly. In a language all his own.
Like a prayer.
Circular; life-are you not ?
He loves me as a breeze.
Not as storm clouds or hurricane winds.
Gently like the exhale you begged the earth for on the hottest summer day.
Soft as his curls.
Not wild like mine.
Pillowy as each cloud we’ve danced across in heavens passed and yet to come.
I’ve chosen him in every lifetime, as he finds me true to form.
Perhaps the only breathing creature who sees me for what I am.
A lullaby, his love….
Soothing and peaceful.
Slow, and melodic…full and bodied.
In a whisper
On my neck, he loves me
Endlessly, perfectly, per his own design.


2 thoughts on “The Architect

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