He Makes Poetry of Me

Clear nectar follows the midrib of leaf to tip, spilling over… I wash — flooding sweet.

Tell the Truth

Your whisper-meant against my lips engulfs my heart in fire, beats it against its cage, fuses my mind to Your livewire.

Suspended above ground, below You— silk holdings, perspective shifting. My mind free to wander everywhere, Gift.

Coax the air from my lungs a little further. Set me upright to bear the yoke of Your grace, bathe me in light, burn me from within — alive.

A little bit of romance, He says. His voice soothing, indulgent. My heart says yes.

I light our candle—for You. I lay my soul bare, whispering vows only You could hold. This is my vow, Loki.