painted ladies

The Sun rose when our eyes first met;

The impact stopped Time 

As the colours filled our souls.

Usually Helios would move to night:

Luna shining the way,

But mid-heartbeat we live –

Frozen amongst the reflective clouds.

Each cycle it grows,

The colours become brighter,

Painted ladies – thistle butterflies

Fill my heart every time I see you.

I researched the greats:

Those well known for poems

Regarding love –

But even they don’t seem to grasp

What I feel towards you.

Dickenson talks of feeling alive,

Revived from the love she felt;

Of never knowing how hungry 

She actually was – without the feeling

She now holds.

Maybe all of them together:

Dickenson, Shakespeare, Poe, 

Shelley, Keats, Whitman,

Browning, every poet 

That has ever written of love,

That has ever thought of love;

Maybe together, they could articulate

The depth of love I feel for you. 

To feel alive is something I lacked,

Never knowing what was missing.

But with each passing day,

Each question answered,

Each piece of your body memorized,

I uncover a new layer of this emotion.

This beautiful and terrifying feeling

Of loving somebody fully and 

Knowing that they love you back.

In a world with so much hate,

With so much pain and sadness;

Feeling this so fully –

Having the colours of a sunrise

Forever imprinted in my heart –

Is something that I will never take for granted.