How, love, shall I call you? What word describes your place?
They introduce you as my “friend” who do not know us well.
They overlook your blazing eyes, the burning in my face,
and smile, instead, to think of what their wording does not tell.
More than merely lover, though better never lived.
My fingers touch your hand at night; when you reach back,
our fingers twine. I lose all sense, those nights you give
your body to my touch. In melting heat, I give my body back.
Closer than companions, we have stood watch through the years.
When you were ill, I made you well. When none believed
the truth I told, you did not bend. We’ve shared our fear
of early death. So long alive, we join our friends to grieve.
The only word to use from now will be like what you give –
strong, sure, kind, accepting all, my everything, my love.
David Milley
