Our love was to be misconstrued,
Too Difficult for the world to comprehend,
That two souls consumed with passion,
Don’t always find a home,
In the solace of the other’s arms.
Some kinds of love,
Exist in that nebulous space,
Where galaxies explode and stars collide,
Where ancient worlds give way to the new,
Neither in the dark nor in the light,
But somewhere on a spectrum of luscious grey.
His love was jaw-droppingly,
Like the gentle glow of the rising sun,
Like the delicate shimmer of a starry sky.
His love didn’t grow of ego,
Not nourished by conquests,
Or the narcotic power of display.
His was a silent nourishment,
Brewed with grace and resilience.
His love was expansive,
Glorious like the sun
In his amber glow,
As he embraced my delicate
Treading the lands in his majestic purple coat
His love did not posses,
But set me free,
And so it goes that
Although miles apart,
He holds in his palm,
My pulsing female heart.