_Your Love_

From depth of cold

And depth of pitch,

I find you there,

Though be I, empty of the rich.

Though my pockets

Are but favored by lint,

Still, you reach for a kiss.

You hold all reasons to go amiss,

But here we are,

Weaving what thread we have to twist

To climb like vines

Over walls that try to constrict,

A season of nude, yet,

We look not to convict,

We are lessons and love

No need for the perfect.

For even mountains,

Bare no edges of perfect complex,

Yet stand with beautiful complexities.

An imperfect perfection

That deals not in taking

Nor competing.

But builds in reaching

In teaching,

In giving, and reaping.

From level

To heavens,

Your love is my pillar, for believing.