Your presence quelled what seemed
to be an unstoppable storm last night,
it's one of the many things
you should know that I
haven't thanked you enough for.

I don't know where to even begin
other than to tell you there is no end.

I've taken all the trails I know
to compress and crystallize
the essence you bring to me,
tried to describe the architecture
towering deep inside.

I've been explicit with this before,
I've used metaphors and all the imagery
you make strobe throughout me,
sometimes combining it all
because no single story makes you.

How could one story or poem
written with this rudimentary heart
ever hope to encompass your being?

The answer is that it's impossible,
like every important woman to me,
or every woman, for that matter,
you're absolute beauty.

You're a mysterious creature
of equal grace and fury,
equal love and raw sensuality,
and men do not say this nearly enough.

I'm guilty of this charge as well,
my body and heart have
committed their crimes
as all of us do over the years.

I've searched for my own reflection in you
to better understand the way you think,
the way you may see me,
the lesson I've learned each time

Is that we don't have to understand
someone entirely or at all
to give beauty recognition.

The constellations you remind me of,
that you learned the names of
even though they live in your eyes,
the smallest whisper of wind
across your skin as winter nears
and sparks your truest fire,
the faintest electric charge
that makes the currents of your want,
the enigmas I never unravel
because some mysteries
only intensify your allure....

These things are just parts of the map,
curves in an infinite diagram,
a song's most subtle note.

All part of the large and microscopic
details I mine by the day.

Could I ever fold those truths
down into a handful of stanzas
and have them be enough to tell you?

Like every woman in the world,
regardless of shape and age
or what language spills out,
regardless of if they love
men or women or both,
or have resigned to be untouched.

You're all mysterious creatures to me,
and I don't have to entirely understand
any of you to know your beauty,
men do not say that nearly enough.

I do understand you, though,
far better than many others,
I've been vague about this before,
my partner in this tender dance around
subjects we protect each other from,
you should know that I'm grateful
you've retained a certain amount of mystery.

I've been explicit before,
but have learned more about
such graceful hints from you,
after all, you know already know
the desire that's bloomed over time.

The way I've yearned to be possessed,
for our skins to gently glide,
furiously race across one another,
you know I'd memorize the exact way
your flesh would tremble and liquefy
when so completely impaled with mine,
your presence enmeshed beyond
what connections bodies forge...

This is all just the topography,
lines which curve into infinity,
a constellation's most subtle glow.

I could never fold such beauty
into language's compressed forms,
I wouldn't know where to even begin
other than to tell you there is no end.

I don't know where to even begin
other than to thank you.

Men do not say this
to women nearly enough.