For My litte Lovely Love, someday...

She is the dishes in the sink that I am compelled to wash.
She is the stain my white shirts in the same damn place, every time, above my heart.
She is the center of the swirl when I stir my tea.
She is the Love rock that breaks windows that I throw in agony.
She is the calming newborn cry that awakens me to pure life...

She is that one star between the mist clearing when I have no idea where I am.
She is the wind before the rain telling me to go outside and wait.
She is the thunder after the lightening, echoing it's great plight and crash to earth.
She is the light left over in innocent hands awakened by nightmares birth.
She is the smooth stone I course my hands over and over, because I love the way it feels...

She is the last goodbye to years of stained hands and hard labor.
She is the heat behind the candle, that beckons my fingers to pass through.
She is the channel beneath an ancient bridge that has watched life come to earth.
She is the sound of distant waves, crashing against distant cliffs.
She is the last thought of any man, saying to himself " What if?"

She is the warm and fettered blanket with many stories to tell.
She is the one well-spoken secret, now I love to shout and yell.
She is the reason for all things benign to rise and be counted.
She is the season for all things to rhyme and leave colleagues astounded.
She is the life and Love's cry...

She is the cause behind each Lover's tale and endless ageless delight.
She is the course that hikers know as the steepest challenge and greatest plight.
She is the knowing of a mothers heart when daughter brings to light,
these well-grown flowers near blossom; when bees are tempted to take a bite.
She is the wall shattering embrace between blamed father and estranged son.

She is the knowing of a passing of each and every creation.
She makes hate cry with her stare and start its pre-posthumous journey
To seek out those it has destroyed and left baron from the beginning.
When man saw Love in the form of another human being.
She is the water, moving its way across the filth, making me look new.

She is the string around my finger, reminding me to Love.

(TBC, my honey girl. My sweet, sweet precious, little Love, for I will certainly NEVER stop adding to this song)