Almost like I pictured you in that dream--the one where we're running in wet sand, chasing the foamy tide and each other and a future--you have that same expression, wide-smiled face with solar intensity framed by lips who find purpose in such moments and in the movements that follow those moments. Your eyes are velour and your demeanor warmth--an invitation to see, an opportunity to recall.
It had taken you energy you didn't know you had to get here, to get me, to get yourself--to recognize that you belong to a culture no more you belong to a slave master. Awakening your senses, your sense of life, your sensational spirit. To hear it spoken. To feel it against your fingertips. To taste guava from an orchard outside the confines of an Eden.
And every morning it takes that same energy to raise the night shades that deflect/reflect the darkness and to lift your eyes to mine with that sense and that smile, saying, "Good morning, love." Yet here you are--almost like I pictured you in that dream--the one where you grab my hand for the first-second time, squeezing deeply the grooves of our identities to make sure that I know it won't be gone again and that it never really left.
Every morning I look at you and think that I couldn't possibly love you more than I did the day before. Then we get up, tease each other, buy bread, eat rice, make fun, take a walk, find a Starbucks, drive, dash, dodge, make love, watch Spongebob, drink martinis--live. And at the end of it all, when you reflect the moonlight and I the day, I find it possible to surpass a summit, to love you more than I did the last time I watched you sleep, to know over and over and over and over that I will/have moved mountains if they annoyingly cast a shadow on your footpath. I will/have pluck(ed) orbs from the sky and fashion(ed) them into a suitable jewel for your ankle when it seem(s/ed) bare. I will/have love(d) you until the time when those night shades will not reopen and we part for the only real time in what I know will be a regretless life beautifully lived.