I would do so much more for your voice than just listen. The dark doorways of your eyes and your words, walking me up to them, will you let me in? I am here, I am here for you.
I wait for the lilt of your laughter, the rising capriciousness of your voice, an octave up and explicating all the ways I deviate for you. Tell me again where the poetry lies, between your hands and mine. The hot of your mouth, the soft of your skin, and all the ways you see me: I will always stop for the timbre of your song.
What could be more of a blessing? The intonation of you overlaid in my life: that I could see through the golden spectrum of you, a warmer vision of the future, a gentler self in my shining later days. That you would hold my hand through all of this, and on the other side, we will both taste honey and daffodils.