I’m still awestruck

Woman,

I swear,

if I didn’t understand the magic of the maiden and the mother…

and even though I do,

I’m still awestruck:

By the way your two edges lick the blade of sunshine and moonlight so seamlessly

that I can’t even wish you a day full of light because you are everything that I love about midnight.

By how I swear I can hear the rumblings of a thunderstorm every time you’re mentioned

and sometimes it’s too hard to look at you because of the lightning flashing in my eyes.

By how your name suggests you are bred from the sea but there’s mountain magic in those palms,

there’s a sorcerer in your skin, covered in earth, beckoning me to dig deeper.

I’m still awestruck:

By how, even with your glasses on, it still seems like you were written into my own personal porno

with wet hair on your forehead, soap bubbles on your skin.

By how cruel it is not to have been born by your hips, cradled in the moonlight of your palms,

pillowed against the mountains of your warmth.