To be known—
not as the world names me,
not as fleeting glances trace my form,
but as I am,
bare and unbecoming,
held between the spaces of your breath.
To be known—
like a prayer whispered at dawn,
like the hush between heartbeats,
like the weight of unsaid things
carved into the marrow of my name.
To be known is to be loved—
not in halves, not in fragments,
not in the fleeting light of borrowed days,
but in the way your hands remember me,
in the way your silence stays.
If love is knowing,
then let me be known
in the way the sea knows the shore,
in the way the sky knows the sun—
aching, endless, whole.
