Last night you whispered a half-dozen words against my skin. They reverberated through each pore into morning, gathering, coalescing, climbing in volume.
I awoke with this list in my ears; caring, kind, poetic, considerate, cuddle-able, wonderful ... and it went on, or perhaps it spiralled in on itself, or perhaps it rolled against my teeth, magnifying in flavour.
Last night I drifted against your arm, floating shoulderblades-to-chest, your breath in my hair, your words on my skin.
Kind, you said. Kind, and then suddenly I was soaring against a skyline beyond the human sky. My husband thinks me kind and in his sleeping eyelids I saw a reflection of myself greater than stars.
Poetic, you breathed, and suddenly I was the beauty on the silent screen, the icon of the ultimate romantic fantasy -- my own. One word from your mouth and suddenly I am the woman/being/heroine that my little girl self has always wished would appear in the mirror.
Considerate, and suddenly each list-within-a-list is worth every painstaking effort.
Cuddleable, and suddenly I felt your skin against my back with every pore.
I fell asleep last night remembering the magic that flowed from your skin on our wedding day, remembering the power with which you moved worlds every time you smiled into the stratosphere.
Two weeks ago now, we weaved, together, the most powerful song of either of our young lives; it felt. Two weeks ago I stood within my own aura of electricity and glimpsed the true potential for magic that I've always sensed exists in you.
It took until last night for it to finally hit home what it was that I was seeing.
One of my first conversations with you, you told me about your magic, about your warrior strength and we discovered the commonality of our births. I remember disagreeing, often, about where your real strength lay.
Two weeks ago you proved me right. Two weeks ago you shone with a light too bright to be war-torn.
You, my dear husband, are not a destroyer of worlds.
You, my beloved, are creation.