My love, you are not a rose,
You’re a much cooler colour.
And those are not petals
on your face, but
a horizon that bends
and beckons.

My love is often smaller
than a mountain, is
sometimes small – though not in size.

So, I’ll tell you what
my love is – not a size,
nor rose nor hill.

My love is a part.
A part of me that is
apart from me, and now
a part of you.

July 1997.