How is it, love?
In a scarce whisper, in hushed tones
It is spoken
As one speaks to a child in Mass,
Or to a lover in tangled bed sheets
Swallowed up in the night.
These scarce whispers reveal a wanting
A genuine feeling, an authentic haunting
For you follow me wherever I go
As the scent of lilacs linger
In the air along the street
Or as poppies scatter their seeds
For an ever-widening stake
Or as baking bread fills the house
with warmth and fullness.
So have you filled me.
In the recesses of my brain
And the scent of you lingers in the weaving
Of cotton threaded sheets.
You have seeded my heart
So only you may take bloom there.
How is it, love, how is it?
-Catherine Schmidt (me!)