I’ll garden and tend

a few words

for you only.



Let me ignite

a spark of love

with the flint of words

that I have.


Or I’ll be the crust

and bear the pain

as my seedling words burst forth

shooting up for a sky, a sun.


I might even be the night

but I’ll write my love

in the words of stars and moon

only for you.


Or I’ll let my words be the fire flies

weaving dream by their dance

in your thirsty eyes

for a glint of light.


This is written for Elizabeth’s



8 thoughts on “Love

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