There are others you have loved before me. You are not the only one that I watched, knowing it was for always. There has been loss on both our sides like a two-bladed knife creating the wound.
Our mouths are more scars than beautiful skin. The love we share came without notice in the wee hours of morning. It came when asking for love to come, had been forgotten. There are few miraculous things that happen, this is one.
We mend our hearts slowly. My kiss is forgiving; you hold me as though I mean something. Our grasp will keep us and we will garner promises and hold them like four-leaf clovers pressed in a book.
I will make music on paper to the salt coming out of every pore of your body, and I will move forward with a deep feeling that will make attempts on the scar across your cheek.
I will memorize a dictionary,
of the words I used attempting
to describe the way it has become, knowing that you are mine. There will be no fear of your scars.
You are your own picture of infirm perfection, but remember, whether you are brighter than the light, or in the evening you fall into my hold like broken shards of glass, with all your thoughts and curiosity, you are the most precious thing I will see. And I love you when you are of one piece and I love you when you are stirred to ten thousand.
Ralph Peck
Photo by Tami Peck
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