Coming home to you is like drinking

cool sips from a mountain spring

after trekking in the desert.

Your love saturates me,

pouring forth through the open door

and intensified through the dilated pupils

of our interlocked gaze as we 

encounter one another anew.

This love permeates me,

overflowing the walls of our small home

with a tidal swell of intimacy

palpable in the beating of my heart

and the tears on your cheeks.

I am home.

You welcome me back

like a falconer

patiently awaiting my cyclical return

while accepting the possibility of loss

through the inherent risk of taking flight.

You are learning how to love so fiercely

that you hold with an open hand

that which you love most dearly.

You receive my story

like an expectant father,

certain that in the deliverance

of the tender promise on my lips

you will be forever changed,

and yet succumbing to that revelation willingly

as one crosses any threshold they are ready for.

To return to a love like this

is as rare in these times

as it is needed.

For this embrace invites the leaving necessary

to find oneself again and again

and to know that the living into can be done

with patience and grace,

just as the departure and return.

From the safe harbor of our love

it is safe enough to set sail

which in turn makes

the journey itself 

that much more