My love for you used to drip from my fingers,
to hide in the thick, deep folds of my skirt.
It used to soak every thread and trail
behind me like a wild raging river.
My love for you used to infuse my every breath,
drawn deep into lungs so thirsty for your air.
I could not imagine choking to breathe on
an atmosphere where you don’t exist.
My Love.
My love for you used to spill across these pages
in dark ink, in clever words and rich phrases,
to fill my head with rhyme and music,
until I felt your pulse in my blood.
My love for you used to carry me buoyant, floating,
head above water, lifting me higher on wings,
until I could fly, nearly touch the pockets of
silvery dust on the surface of the moon.
My Love.
My love for you used to know no earthly boundaries,
used to be celebration, a feast to make us drunk.
When midnight chimed, I flew home smiling,
counting the hours until we touched again.
My love for you used to be a flood, a pulsing ocean.
We used to be children, dancing in its waves.
My love was not minimized, not measured
and found too much, or toxic to your life.
My Love.
My love for you is now meted out in teaspoons,
stirred carefully into your coffee – no spilling,
metered until I have more in my pockets,
than you have enough cups to hold.
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Pen's Ink 