Hands in Time

My hand finds yours;
feel my fingers
slide and weave
into place,
your loving anchor
to steady you
when fears cause thoughts
to race.

My hand is in yours;
there is nothing
we cannot endure
and use
to manifest it
into something more,
good and pure,
repurposed anew.

My hand is in yours,
only changing slightly
in physical form
as we age,
but the love transmitted
only strengthens
with each adjoined
passing day.

My hand in yours,
in one of the ways
we become one,
so natural
and effortless
the genuine home
welcome.

One day our love
will transcend this life
and these hands,
but then our light
can fully fuse
as we finally rise together to
begin.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Finally

I am changing again,
another metamorphosis,
finally with wings

delicate yet indestructible,
soft but dipped in
a protective celestial coating.

I think it may be your love
combined with His blessing.

I think this is my last rebirth,
no more rising from the ashes
of my previous selves.

I am ready to fly,
though already home,
so comfortably snug
in your heart.

Coastal breezes
keep me blissfully hovering
above the benevolent sea

as the rising sun
warms my soul
without singeing
my dreams.

Eruption

I stop kissing you
all over
with the arrival
of those colors,

that fleeting burst
of wonder
to remind us of our
benevolent Creator.

The sky erupts
in pastels and light;
the windows get tinted,
so I fly outside.

By the hand
and heart,
still connected,
you follow suit,
smiling topless

in your jeans.
The light reflects
off my evergreen
irises.

You say it’s hard
to tell which is brighter
when my eyes are affixed
on the horizon,

but even you
succumb to it:
the moments of glory,
the magnificence,

and just like that,
the day descends,
and we resume
our sweet indulgence:

lips dancing
beneath the stars
that wink between
themselves
about the lovers

they brought together
by aligning
when He finally gave the nod
in the timing…

Poem and unedited sunset ©LauraDenise

Keeper

The hearth
I’ve always wanted
to feel,
that warmth
at the heart
of an abyssal sea,
at the center
of an amaranthine soul,
from a flame lit
and tended to
so faithfully,
is alive
in the depths
of me.

No shadow can settle
as you keep constant guard,
devoted to having me feel
only the tenderest
of love.

Every Season In Love

In every season
of our future,
I’ll have at hand
and in my hair
the flowers,
whites and pinks
to accent these
realized romantic dreams,
femininity, soft,
silken whispers,
petals, and tresses
brushing flesh,
lost senses,
summer dresses
lifted, sensual
kisses, wet lip
gloss, hands skim
then clutch
in the rush,
bodies in the garden
fall with lust
once again
into even deeper
married
love…

To Where You Are

A poetic letter to me sent upon a wave and star
to reach through time, back to where you are…

This “he” of your fantasies
receives your Little Red Balloon
and your whispers
to be delivered by Moon.

He will continuously clean
your mirrors until you see
as he does, all of your beauty
clearly.

You will weave wedding
wildflowers in your hair
and feel the wind whip
freeingly through the despair.

You will radiate in dresses
and feel feminine,
barefoot and free
upon grass and sand.

Your wavy locks
will be teased by the breeze.
Your hand outstretched
for a companion will receive.

Your heart reopened
will be filled to overflowing,
exceeding your dreams
with God-blessed reality.

Your voice in song
will again reach the heavens,
your loquaciousness endlessly
received with eager anticipation.

That voice in your head
and grip around your growth
will fall away as he convinces you
to love yourself.

Your faith will grow
as anticipated;
God will see you through
as He always has.
He knows always
what is ahead.
He will deliver love
if you cut the thread…

You will not give
your whole life
to this verbally-abusive “man.”
Soon you will be filled
with enough courage to act.
You will come to realize
those decades
of hurtful words
were lies all along;
you will come to know
your worth.

Who you once long ago
hoped instead you were
will appear as unwavering
truths in every mirror.

Little Red Balloon

Of Love

I could write of love
for the rest of my days
with your soul in mine,
a combined light
revealing new ways,
and His grace
lacing the glow –
seamless, stitchless,
healing to whole –
but love and light
is what I’ve written
all along;
perhaps that’s the path
that led you
home to my arms.

Every Season Sought

Hold me tender,
the only one I seek:
temporary tear breach.

Dam the rest
as your love ripples,
fills again those crevices,
archaic, getting old.

I long for those fissures
to grave-grow cold.

Your weathered browns
still warm my soul.

(No sadness today, just recalling those times in each season when I needed most, and you drew me near to remind me of the greatest, purest truth I know. ❤️)

Descension

I never did
become bitter,
never let
my heart freeze,
but slowly,
I loosened
the grip
on the string
of my dream…

Not a death,
but last rites
respectfully
performed,
its helium
finally lost
just above
your shore…

My heart
descended
gently
into your hands;
I felt
that moment,
for inside me,
hope fluttered
again.

The Way

The way we make
our own magic,
dispel the spells
of cynicism,
leads me so easily
in complete belief
that our love will indeed
win.

So dance with me, my darling,
through all these ups and downs;
we’ll keep relighting our dreams
and color our own world.