For: My Wife
November 20, 2011
My master: shackles never shown as soft
until this golden bond enslaved this wrist.
Amid my brightest hours, the cuff embossed
a whitened ridge where sun divorced my skin.
What once was darkest, purest skin, now sends
a warning: all who pass this thrall, the Queen
commands respect. The hearts of lonely men
can find a peace, but sacrifice the free.
Engraved upon my shackle reads, "fin,"
and when I dared to ask the Queen to dance,
a lucid diamond weighed upon her limb.
Some year ago, recalled, we traded vows,
For I'm a King and serf, and she a Queen and wife:
As lords and grunts, we're both enshrined for life.
November 20, 2010
I think of you and see your subtleties.
Your laugh at "taco hugs," my dancing shows.
Your often overlooked ability
To listen to my shouted anecdotes.
And from these small affections choices rose:
To live in San Jose, to dream as one.
To know our passing summer days unfold
In winter's basket, each delight in turn.
And every night, when sleep has caught your eye,
I come inside and whisper sweetest dreams:
"That though I've held another's hand, your smile,
Forever trust, is all of which I dream."
These words, tattooed by faith, are promises:
The greatest day of life has yet to come.