What is Love

but the skin we are

wrapped in, the

grass atop the hallowed


each eyelash as its wished upon,

the foam that lingers on each wave crest.

What is Love, my darling,

you ask or was it me, (again for the third time

just today), when Love is everything

present and everything unseen.

The very root of us as

we grow and morph into something

better because we were held more,

kissed gently,

discouraged less.

What is Love, we ask

and wait with jittering

anticipation, and I say,

“Look to me, My Love!”

Yes, I say again,

“Look here!”

All the love you will ever need,

ever question, ever crave,

is now the blanket I place

over you and keep around you,

sheltered in my arms

from any storm that will

ever come your way.