love letter

You have wings and you do not have wings. You love me and you do not.
I weave the strange compelling knowledge of your existence in and around my fingers
like cat’s cradle. It dances. When I think of you, everything dances.
In the space of my heart, where I wait for you, where I have waited so long for you,
I kneel
in front of the empty throne you never wanted to claim. You do not understand the joy I take
in the ache of the waiting, in the ache of my knees
on this cold marble floor. You do not understand me:
I am a mystery to you. And yet
you have opened your hands, just so far, to create a small space
for me to slip in between them, laughing and crying, to cover your face
over and over
with kisses. I flow
like water,
I come to you
like water,
and like water
I ebb
away.