In the garden
of love and wonder
where we both go to dream and be
and sometimes share ourselves
our bigger bits and smaller pieces
our insides,
and our bodies,
our fingers, our legs,
that place
we go
when I give you me
and you give me you
where we whisper
about faith and future
and dirty, sexy things
and we laugh
about the past
before we drift off to safe, sound sleep
from near drowning
near death
because our love
so bold and urgent
it almost takes us under
it brings us to the brink
and we lie
tangled like gnarly roots,
we lie inside each other
satiated
mellowly dreaming
within ourselves too
from wanton favors,
reciprocated.

We tiptoe coming
to this place
this garden
where once we lunged for one another,
the mere idea of us
under the cover
of darkness
long ago,
how we stole secret moments,
and sealed ourselves
like wax on paper,
and the earth,
it caressed us,
and helped us grow,
our love broke free here
this here,
this place,
is where I was born,
I was but a tender shoot,
ignited by your energy
and the blazing sun,
and even the harrow
(all the stuff that wanted us dead),
it only made us stronger, hardier
and despite the seasons
of change and renew,
and drought,
and soaking rain,
and freezing frosts,
we still grew
our love still grew.

In the garden,
amid the knots,
and the weeds,
and the heirloom blooms,
the thorny thickets,
and the worms,
and the sprouts,
poking through,
is our ever changing miracle
perennially
standing
true.

I’ll meet you there,
in our garden
of love and wonder,
I’ll meet you there again,
later today,
and yes,
I’ll meet you,
tomorrow, too.

Don’t be late.

~

Author: Kimberly Valzania

Image: Pixabay

Editor: Emily Bartran