Liberated Love Poem 

This is not your usual love poem.
I’m not going to tell you your skin is soft
as petals, your face as fair as day,
hair like velvet, breath as sweet
as sweetest perfume. I’ll not say
your voice rings like crystal, sings
like birdsong at dawn. I’ll not compare you
to lilies or doves, say your throat
is that of swans, your lips roses,
eyes twinkle like stars. After all,
I’ve seen you pierce the dark with those eyes,
hold back time with hands as quick
and fine as knives descending,
defy destroyers with that rigid chin
knowing love defends against all.

Counting the Ways

            1
I fell in love with your boys
before falling in love with you,
both of them tough but kind,
bright but unassuming, as stubborn
as anything given room to grow.

            2
There is nothing to be said of eyes
that hasn’t been said before. 
Still, it was the eyes that got me. 
Windows, they say, on the soul.
Pale green pools of intensity,
solemnity, temptation, allure,
made more so by a darker corona.
Nothing you haven’t heard before.

            3
The day I spilled wine on the carpet
in the apartment with no furniture,
you taught me your first lesson,
the use of white to neutralize red,
the importance of blotting,
how to avoid rubbing.

            4
Every day became good or bad only in regards
to how many things made me think of you.

            5
Suddenly, I was no longer bothered by long-sleeved shirts,
and I started liking warm red wine,
and eating things I didn’t know how to spell.

            6
On moving day you had everything
in order, what goes where, when
to eat. I started keeping the rules.
Move fast without rushing.
Be focused but kind. Always listen.

            7
Instead of roses, I brought a hammer.
Instead of rings, we wore masks.
We tore down ceilings and walls
to put up our own parameters,
both of us happy to be building again.

            8
Your slightest touch makes me stop
in my tracks, sends chills from head to toe,
melts a day’s worth of worries
into one thing that matters.

            9
The day you let me become a father,
that part of life I thought I’d never fulfill,
remains the most important thing I’ve done.

            10       
The world is so much better when I’m with you.
It feels like a long, hot bath with candles on the corner,
a glass of red wine or brandy in my hands,
and Sarah McLachlan playing on a CD that never ends
but never repeats the same song twice.

            11
Moment to moment
we move together,
working things out,
making things better.

            12
Sometimes I try to imagine
what I’d do if you were to die
before me. I’d cry without shame,
pull out my hair, howl, remain
inconsolable. I’d lose track
of time, purpose, everything. Then,
I’d slog ahead through the muck and misery
of life making the best of it,
making meaning in memory of you.

            13
Because of you I believe
the world may yet discover
one beautiful thing.