Dali

To you who arrived

and sat tenderly on

the hills and valleys

of my heart, I am writing.

Here, there are forests to

wonder and hours to waste

enveloped in pleasure.

I have come to know you

as perfume knows memory,

as windows knows light, and

as streets know the quiet

after midnight.

I have known your skin

and wore it better than

I often wear mine.

Even time forgets it is

moving when you’re nearby.

Even hands don’t

know to hold after

holding you.

Even I pretend I know love,

foolishly hoping you don’t

notice that I have not been

blessed with a joy this great.

You, beloved, are all

the light I have searched for,

indefinitely. Open arms that

welcome me sweetly when I

am waiting, eagerly, to meet

tenderness that is you.

It is as though I have not dined

in joy, in wonder, in bliss of this

feeling before I entered your

apartment, your mind, or life.

I sit here afraid you

may be the start

of a real thrill

to my heart.

I sit here thinking

what a joy it is,

just to be next to you.

I sit here thinking,

and the more I think,

I wonder where you

have been every

time I needed

love like you to arrive.