You are more than a five leafed clover.
In this tiny hand, I hold your parts.
Even those parts that you hide, but I see so deeply in your eyes.
Without words, you are a geode shining.
You fit me consummately.
I am raw and unsensored in my need for you.
You are the snowflakes I catch on my tongue.
The cold, November, runny nosed kisses after dark.
I would write a thousand words for you.
And then I would write a thousand more.
I would fall, like an infant learning to step without holding a railing.
My geode shining.