With Great Generosity Until I Turn to Stone

With great generosity he gives me:

Grounding,
Belonging,
Tight embraces,
Travels,
Adorable images of animals,
A clean-shaven face.

Homemade pretzels and pita breads,
Perspective,
Magic hands,
Watermelon and cantaloupe cut into ready-to-eat chunks for my fruit cravings.

A brick wall of a man,
Stir fry that you wouldn’t believe could come from an electric stovetop,
Clean dishes.

Acceptance,
Perspective,
Trust,
Great undoubting trust.

Support of all kinds,
That box on the top shelf I can never reach,
Love taps with just enough hit,
Perspective.

Inventing a new word that somehow makes such perfect sense I can understand it completely without a second thought.

Wrapping me in a mighty bear hug and squeezing and squeezing until the satisfying crack! quivers through my spine.

Perspective.
My dearest love, the perspective.

Sparring,
Wordplay,
Stability,
Fucking perspective.

Safety of a tower shield,
The fucking… perspective…
The fucking…

Shelter of the most warm and comfortable kinds.

Respect enough to disagree.
Respect enough to agree.

If other things dear to me
Must someday leave:
My ways, My paths,
My friends;
Should all things that keep me breathing with my feet to the soil
Be scorched away one day in furious destruction,
And the cinders dissolve on a fierce apocalyptic wind…
Until the day I turn to stone,
He would remain.