April 8

My love is hard
as stone, ringed
and rugged, pink
and prime, purple
like the sun going down
shadowed like a warm
canyon that echoes
whispers, old songs,
memories of soft touches
now and to come, under blankets,
in back seats, on couches
something I carry on my face,
in my arms, and around my shoulders
like a multicolored blanket
up a canyon and out onto the plains
and up mountains and into air warm as joy.