I again opened a Valentine’s book you made for me. It is leather bound, a hundred pages of us, for me. It means the world to me. You included much, so, so much. And I found a poem I wrote, that you wrote back to me in this book.

Hear is that poem for you to find, again, as I found from you, upon your awakening:

Your perfect eyelid
rises across the sun with the morn
where you are still lingering in dreams
I love us like this you know:
warm, gentle, half conscious but aware
our closeness yesterday, last night,
and more today.

There are no chores, no worries, no travails.
Every time I wake, I wonder
how it can be possible to love you
more each day;
how I can be closer to you
than I was yesterday
how we can be better
than anything ever imagined.

And then you open your other eye
and I see deep within you
that you are the same.