kings.

no one wears a crown quite like you.
what faith i hold in you, my saint, mi amor.

now i can see what the dark looks like.

all i had was the fastness of your body.
the castle of your hand.
nothing is left but the sea, and the sky, and my pride.
am i to overcome you?
am i to reach, and call everything by its name?
count the gracious grains of sand and the pinpricks of the sky?
as well count the cells of my body; the words in my palm.
who am i to say i love you?
leave to god the naming, and the knowing.

i desire only to count the aches of a hundred years.