Your hands never form a noose
(perfectly drawn around my graceful neck),
nor do they make fists clenched in rage.
You’re a safety net when I’m drowning,
fingers laced in mine,
and eyes traced on my own.
You’re the memory of forever
You feel like home after a long, hard day.
You are the comfort, the laughter,
the sacrifices, the pain,
but all those joyous occasions too.
(You remember the love notes,
my favorite flowers.
You take me to dinner
and dance with me in the night.)
You drink in my words,
take in my stares,
and make me feel like I’ve never felt before,
make the problems melt away,
show me constellations and satellites,
take me to the woods and kiss me there.
There’s magic in the way your eyes light up.
There’s an undeniable chemistry,
a magnetic pull.
You’re handsome when you flash a half-smile at me.
You are home to me,
you are love to me.
(This is everything I ever sought,
I never imagined as my own.
Not a dictionary in the world
could define what you mean to me, my love.)