Dearest man of my heart;

I know that words from me are as insubstantial as smoke.

I know that my promises are one shade of purple short of black for I’ve bent and broken far too many.

I know that my need for you is an iridescent vibration of truth.

I know that I feel you, crsytalline, at my very core.

I know that weeks might go by without word from you but when that silence breaks it’s like the fertile smell of soil beneath a chrome-yellow sun.

I know that I taste that welcome sound of you like a flavor of air; hot, like sun-scorched blacktop.

I know that I long to be saturated in you; taken into the darkest of your waters until day sours towards bitter twilight.

I know that one day we shall dance beneath cotton sheets, graceful as starlight at the edge of night, for we, you and I, are meant to be.

I know that I love you.

Now tell me, love, what do you know?