Reasons
By Ekiwah Adler Beléndez
Sunlight precedes you
like a dog guiding a blind woman,
moving swiftly when you hurry
waiting patiently when you stop.
This is not why I know I love you.
The rain in your eyes
is ever so warm and inviting.
Even your wrinkles
are in perfect proportion to the night,
like gentle moths,
they reveal your softness.
This is not why I know I love you.
Your stillness is like dust particles
making me feeble and thirsty.
Your hands move in imperfect symmetry,
like the trilling of birds,
and make my world more simple.
This is not why I know I love you.
Blue rings of night
surround my eyes
I shiver slightly;
my heart, an agitated mouse,
squeals frenetically.
I see your name on signs
in stores and restaurants,
on the tag of my t-shirt.
This is why I know I love you.
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