Living In Her Eyes

Sometimes
I watch her watching me,
wonder-struck, wavering,
and let myself imagine
the country conjured behind those eyes—
softened by sunrise, soaked golden with grace,
assembled from galaxies
she gently gathers
in the gravity of her gaze.

In that vision,
I am radiant,
woven from whispered reveries,
rippling slowly toward shorelines
I've yet to know—
fiercely luminous,
silver pools of moonlight spilled
onto sleeping skin;
amber sun slipping slow
through morning windows,
warming the edges of fragile dreams.

She calls me brilliant,
the word not flattery
but inevitability—
like dawn drawn softly
from night's embrace,
starlight retracing
constellations we forgot
we carried under ribs, behind eyes,
beneath tongues shy with blessings.

In the hush of her mouth
brilliant is balm, blessing—
a breath I breathe deeply, syllable-soft,
sound sculpted into sacredness,
spoken into valleys
I had once mistakened for shame.
Her voice silk, steady certainty,
morning rain melody rinsing
the hidden salts behind lashes.

I hunger—
oh, how I hunger—
to step fully, finally,
into skin she stitches gently
with each lingering look:
my shape mended whole
beneath patient eyes,
wounds quietly rewoven
with silken strength
threaded through unwavering faith.

To her eyes,
I am already everything
I yearn toward—
joy softening borders,
tenderness blooming bravely,
grief lovingly loosened
by fingers steady,
graceful, careful, sure.

She imagines me
crafting poems with healing hands,
meaning made from broken pieces,
lines of light spun gently through fractured porcelain,
easing ruin into veins of gold—
wonder shining where scars once lived.

And because she sees,
I grow braver, brighter—
cradling uncertain courage,
speaking quietly in rooms
that once stole breath and voice.
Sentences reshaped gently
by the soft arc of her smile—
words warm against ribs
as ripples of perpetual yes:
Yes, you can; Yes, you are; Yes, you will.

In her nearness
I cradle hope
like something holy,
uncertainties smoothed
with palms kinder than prayer,
insecurities carefully coaxed
back toward beauty—
each doubt retold
line by forgiving line,
a gentler scripture
inked softly
with honey-slow syllables
that only her mouth
can make truth.

And when I falter, fade
towards shadow,
she cups my face,
her touch a tender question
already answered—
palms tracing maps
of vulnerability,
fear feathered carefully
into forgiveness,
fingertips patient, knowing
the careful weight of what they hold.

In that silent, sacred space,
I am remade,
again, ever again—
reflection softened
into landscapes of seeing;
grace layered over grace,
each heartbeat offered freely
to that hymn
of seeing and being seen

Until I no longer distinguish
the woman I dreamed
in her vision
from the woman breathing softly now,
palms pressed gently
to the quiet rise of her chest,
claiming brilliance
with every heartbeat, steady and sure.

The miracle of her gaze
has taught me
exactly how.