Beneath my hands,
your small breasts rise, tender and still,
like the bellies of fallen sparrows,
breathing softly, fragile yet real.
Wherever you move,
I hear the whisper of wings,
closing, falling, a soft surrender,
a sound only love brings.
I am speechless,
for you have fallen beside me,
your eyelashes delicate,
like spines of tiny creatures in mystery.
I fear the moment
when your lips might name me hunter,
when you draw me near to confess
that your body, you think, is lesser, not splendor.
But I would call the stone, the light, the water,
to rise and speak the truth you deny—
to offer the trembling beauty of your face,
from their depths, where they lie.
When you call me close,
and tell me your body is not beautiful,
I want my hands, my being, to be
a mirror, where you see nothing but wonderful.
Let my body be your pool of light,
for your looking, your laughing,
to reflect your grace and delight,
until you believe what I’ve always known,
that you are beauty, fully shown.
~ ~ ~
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