In your eyes, life pools in fullness,
your love and the Spirit of God
intermingle to those who behold them,
at times a fully mature woman
with a smile that reaches into me,
that draws my happiness to you,
your love is undeserved
by one such as me, a poor blind man
fumbling through each day only
by the hand of his God.
Your love to me is like a
clearing in a wood
with flowers, sunlight, and a breeze
at the noon sun that brings
the cherished moments of renewal.

Your skin is as sweet as
dark honey, harvested by bees,
not for them, but for me,
with hair that captures
the beauty of the night
and holds it even though the brightest light,
with eyes that warm me inside in the
coldest hour, like hot chocolate on a cruel day,
your whispered words, are cords of strength,
borrowed by the weak.
My passions for you are like
liquid fire welling up inside me,
consuming me, calling me with your eyes,
your touch is salve on open wounds.
These broken pieces held together
by will alone, now by your love,
as my sweet squaw you look to me,
by God’s hand I am your brave warrior.