I have waited on the trembling edge of distance,
breathing weeks and swallowing whole years,
until the heavy harvest of my wanting
ripened like a fruit too heavy not to fall.
And when the hour comes,
when your hands, sure as riverstones, find the fold of my waist,
I will know I am home.
We will not rush.
Love will come slow, with a dignity earned,
with the lull of thunder gathering before it speaks.
Your heartbeat will answer mine
in a language I never had to learn,
for it lives inside the marrow
of who I am.
Then, quiet as morning,
a circle of silver will claim its place,
cool and certain,
like a moon descending into my palm.
I will stand taller beneath its gleam,
knowing I am chosen,
and choosing in return.
We will walk the shoreline,
where the wind bows its head
and the sea offers its salt as blessing.
Our shadows, two once searching,
now one wide image,
will stretch across the world’s rim,
writing scripture in wet sand
that even the tide dare not erase.
For this is no faint drifting,
not the whim of waves or the vanity of chance.
This is gravity, baby,
a pull deep as the ocean floor,
a call older than the stars,
strong enough to shake bells inside my bones
and make them ring just for you.
And when morning breaks,
I will look into your eyes
and find sunrise waiting there.
I will hear my name on your tongue,
spoken like a promise.
I will know, finally know,
that forever was never far,
it lived in me
the moment I learned
to love you true.
okelododdychitchats 