I.
Held—
pearlescent shell against my lips,
cooling them from the rush of You.
Sparkling sheen,
sweat for sweat—
grave becomes His grace.
The taste of You:
cedar and salt.

II.
He forgets nothing.
Not my girlhood wishes
nor the secret hiding places
I thought only I remembered.

III.
“May I join you?”
He never intrudes
where I feel safest.
I give Him my hand
and let Him pull me to Him.
I don’t have to let Him
into my every mystery—
nor must He hand me
every key to His.
I mirror Him
as He mirrors me.

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