Monday, January 20, 2025

All

 

I don’t know

if I told you today

I love the way your beard oil

lingers on my fingers,

the way I get to smell you

even after you’ve left me

 

in this old house,

in the corner of the room,

with my desk and bookshelf

in just-right light

streaming in from the windows.

 

All of which

you put together

because you believe

in these words I write.

 

Have I told you today

I cried again,

thinking about that longing look

in your eyes,

wondering if I am pleased with this—

your offering?  How it

 

swallows me whole

as if the pieces of me

aren’t lying scattered here—

while you only see

the All

of me?

 

How often you say

I am much more to you

than any of these ripped-up, jagged

parts.

 

Is this an ode?  Possibly.

You are my silver-crowned king,

though some might shrink at what thoughts

those antique, unfashionable words might bring.

 

I say them because

you have me, All,

and treat me like your queen.

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

Coming up on 27 years with this man.

4 comments:

Thank you for your thoughts!