This is warm and quietly real -
moving with backbone,
growing without intentions.
There is no rosy tint to this.
That look in your eye and
your presence
on my skin,
in my mind,
tells me this is real.
Dumb down the feeling,
give it a one-syllable name
and this is still worth
something good.
You stayed for
the melting of the glaciers,
the half moons in my blushing palms
and so,
the knots unravel for you;
we fall into orbit.
