“Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself. But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires: To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night. To know the pain of too much tenderness. To be wounded by your own understanding of love; And to bleed willingly and joyfully.”
— Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet
I see you in all that is beautiful—
not a mere echo of likeness,
but love’s own blooming truth,
a fulfillment carved in splendor.
You are the sun’s golden ache,
the moon’s quiet yearning,
the sky holding stars like secrets,
the brook that melts into night’s song.
You are the wind’s soft wound,
a chime of tender pain,
lest you fade unheeded—
you are everywhere,
whispering that beauty lives
if we dare to feel its pulse.
Through clouds,
through shadowed depths,
you gleam beyond—
your form, a haze on misted glass,
stirring me to dream
of all I bleed for in joy.
Yet it transcends the seen—
who would not hymn your name,
love’s every shape?
It’s the you within:
a mind alight with knowing,
a heart too vast to hold,
graced with wounds I cherish,
a scroll of hidden words for me to weep and sing.
In love’s embrace, you unfold—
your flesh a rose’s fragile fire,
each kiss a brook of thought and flame,
where body bends to soul’s sweet sting,
your spirit’s scent a balm I drink,
a melding born of willing hurt, consumed in bliss.
Bound to the divine,
a goddess of love’s deep will—
petals and dew,
jasmine and thorn,
poised,
wild,
tasted,
surrendered.
I see you in all that is beautiful,
and bleed for it willingly.
BB Grey--musings 
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