Artwork by Lynn Choi
My darling man, born many Novembers ago. 
The earth has spun on its axis countless tides since you've been mine. 
Yet, after all this time, here I am still taking mental pictures of you 
—admiring as if you were brand new.

Cow lick.
Laugh lines.
Smug smirk.
Birth marks. 
Kind eyes.
Afternoon stubble.

I believe that if words had faces,
yours would look a lot like trouble. 

Quick wit.
Masculine touch. 
Deep Voice. 
Warrior spirit.
Protective nature. 
Adventurous soul. 

It's not fair how much 
with you I lose all control. 

The kind of man authors write books about.
Your simple existence creates within the depths of me an uproar,
fanning a dwindling fire that from near-to-ashes you have restored. 
You fit into the gaps in me I never knew existed, 
making me so glad that when I resisted you persisted.

My darling man, 
I never knew how much I could adore, 
I never imagined how much I could feel more, 
oh how I hope that you will always call me yours.

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