in the sight of this.
Beauty, true beauty.
And love beyond means.
It may be the gallons of sunlight,
it may be family and pictures.
Pictures, smiles, hearts, but no.
I refuse to think it is only these.
It is not only the light, but
my God, the light!
It is not only soft kisses and
windows sweating with steam.
It is the truth in knowing, the
inarguable faith that these
are real. The messengers of
light, they are real, outside of
their perceived presence.
My blood remembers and knows,
beauty is real and it is here.
Or, I may implode.
