Ever since the light in your eyes
blinded me to anyone else,
I’ve been locked on to you,
and can’t come down from the ceiling.
I tap dance up and down the walls
of your thighs as you teach me
the Kama Sutra, and poetic meter of love—
down to the naked bone.
I watch you prepare soil for a tree
of you and me, and was amazed
you knew how to make it grow.
I built branches to protect you—
and watched you shape leaves
to be umbrellas for stormy days.
Every leaf emits your scent.
Singing birds have tears in their eyes
when winds force them to fly away.
Monarchs gather to listen to a chorus
of our singing roots. Your laughter’s
a musical mountain of a waterfall.
You begin each day with tunes
more thrilling than songs
of a morning thrush.
Your touch, a healing balm.
My soul is rooted in your soul.
We will always be the tree
that God forgot to plant.