Love blooms.

Lately, it's felt nearly impossible
to get out of bed.
When it gets this bad, and she feels
the shame in my eyes and the
strain in my voice,
she sits with me, reading aloud
a new poem or her favorite fairytales.
She makes me smile; she always does.
Some days, I'll ask to see the sun
and she'll happily abide,
listening to the robins and watching
the cars speed down the road.
Some days, I'm the one who gently
opens the curtains.
But on days like today, when the rain
softly drums on the rooftop,
I make my way to the kitchen,
my hand in hers.
She brews a new pot of coffee
despite it being almost 3 in the
afternoon, and I preheat the oven
for fresh cinnamon rolls.
I catch her smile an hour later as
she washes the dishes and I stand
close to her side, drying.
I laugh as she sprays water in my
direction, and I pull her into me.
We abandon the dishes and make
love shyly, like lovers just discovering
the wonders of the human body,
guilt and fear exiled long ago.
And, even when we both struggle to
leave these four walls,
we have everything we've ever wanted
here, in each other's presence,
treasuring a world we've tenderly
created for ourselves.

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Happy Pride Month! Love is love.