Rain
If you feel like shrinking,
if you feel afraid,
I will be like the rain –
no matter how many coats you wear or
how many umbrellas you hold or
how small you make yourself –
I will be there until you let me in.
 
It might start with one drop
finding a space on the nape of your neck,
reminding you that you have a body,
a body meant to be touched,
a body meant to be held,
a body meant to be treasured,
until you raise your face to the sky,
umbrella down, coat off,
ready to let love in.
 
How I Love
Art is the act of making the unseen, seen
(I will love you artfully)
 
Music is the act of making the unheard, heard
(I will love you musically)
 
Poetry is the act of making the unsaid, said
(I will love you poetically)

All You Have to Say
I will eat your music
and bathe in your voice
and heal your childhood
and drink your skin
and smoke your skeletons
and hug your memories
and dance in your lips
and v palms
and kiss your fractures
and burn your anxieties
and wear your breath
and kneel in your light
and sing your soul
and write poems in your scars.
You just have to say,
“I’m ready.”
 
October
I will love you like:
the first sweater you put on in autumn
warm apples
blankets and books
well-fitted boots and pumpkin patches
crisp air and piles of leaves begging to be jumped in
we’re falling
 
But I will not forget to love you like we’re
hanging onto summer, like no matter
how cool the world grows, there’s always
room for heat, for wanting, for bare skin.