He tells me that I have lady slippers in my lady slipper heart
And that I find more than I know in a young girl's declaration
written in the dirt with a stick

I step over spider threads that cross the woodsy path
when I see them,
and when I don't,
they trail behind me in long
slow curves,
like great thought

He tells me that I am so harmony when we walk
He tells me I am so natural, like pink cherry blossoms over a dark brown
house in a green setting
He tells me that I make him smile when I write about him
Like dewy branches across his face in the morning

In the open space on the hillside
I watched a bee
and he,
mostly watched the bee

Penned by my hand on the 2nd of Solis, in the year 452 AD.