Home > poem, Poetry, Writing > miracle


There’s still mud on my shoes
from the last miracle – a reminder
that things grow
in a mess, that to be real
is to be undone, drop
by drop, heart like a river
in a rainstorm: wild
but honest.

Your chaos is sweet,
a whirlwind salvation, love
that comes with a laugh
and the kind of smile
that is its own secret –
this isn’t luck
but I am lucky.

There are no locks
between us, just fire
and the way
our hands fit like keys,
you look at me
how spring turns the flowers,
and this is magic,
no ceremony, only

This is a blessing,
all kisses and sacred hips,
water to wine
in a single afternoon, bodies
bent toward joy, an affirmation
that love is always a familiar skin,
and I want every inch
of everything, no holding back
and no hesitation –
I’m leaning in,
and so are you.

Categories: poem, Poetry, Writing Tags: ,
  1. March 17, 2015 at 1:45 pm


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