words are my delight

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Tuberose. Old office.

I play with them. I pour them. I prepare them. I potion them.

 

They know my hands. They know my mind. They know my soul by heart.

 

It takes so much patience.

 

A commitment.

 

A willingness to be quiet.

 

A desire to see.

 

They live with me,

 

though we are independent.

 

Lovers, for sure.

 

We may have already married.

 

But what does that matter anyway?

 

The most important thing

 

is that I show up

 

every day.

 

That I have proven my salt

 

through so many hot summers

 

and winters without proper light.

 

That I came to my desk to just sit.

 

That I put my shoes on

 

to run.

 

Whatever I knew we needed

 

to stay in relationship with each other

 

I did. 

 

And I do. 

 

Because words are my delight.