Your experience of me will expire.
I will not expire.
Your yearnings will shift
and to you,
I will disappear.
My presence,
my hereness,
my nowness—
it’s already
dwindling
as
I
write
these
words.
I am
okay
to
wane
(according to your eyes)
like
the
Moon.
But I am still here,
forever majestic,
reflecting light
with all my Love,
fortitude, and intensity.
I know you.
I know
how you place your hands
on your own body
when someone needs you
to listen.
I know
the shapes your mouth finds
when you tell
a story, new or old,
pleasant or painful.
I know
how your eyes warm
and your cheeks lift
when you’re filled with Love
or surprised by beauty.
I know you
and the space
and sparks
that dance
between our eyes and our bodies.
But what I’ll never know is
how your hand fell,
how your body rested,
when your eyes closed,
what shape your mouth took
that warm, quiet night
when it was just you
by the water
on the rocks—
with your book
and our candle—
one sound ripping through
the black sea,
that night you were
forgetful of Love.