Golden Butterflies

In this swirling joy, I could be torn apart.
In dreams of touch and between
wandering hands of bone and heated
flesh I quake.

I love him.

My mind in solitary cells will make
golden butterflies of our joining--
his historical choices and my
cumulative character--
but I will call it Love
and give him ownership.

And because of his Love, that emerging
walk to his running engine will have now
my whole focus, and through his Love and
my focus this moment will hatch from
its reality cocoon and bloom into swirling,
boundless poetry that only we can
touch.  Only I can touch, but I eagerly
give him full ownership.

For, I love him.

I will always love him;
He will always inspire my births.

And though squeaky wheels may sound
the departure, our love's call-and-
response will always precede, and its
echoes will be felt in the pulse of the
earth and the waves in the wind forever,
as long as urgency waits.  And there,
here, I find him.