i want to celebrate someone.
i came to say so.
you weren’t home.

you were counting all the flowers—
these—adorning the thoughts
on each of your dark little fingers.

so many thoughts to this finger,
others resting in your palms.
your thumb standing opposed,
it grasps for understanding.

i want to celebrate with you,
i came to say so.
you weren’t home.

when we met
you never were anything
but a sensibly private,
and shy person 
masquerading as a barfly,
until you disappeared
from my life,
only to dart in, out,
like a butterfly moth
drawn to me,
always welcomed
back with joy.
you bring my colors
out in fashions
i never dreamt—
because i’ve hidden
behind antics, posturing,
and words.
you’ve never drawn
a false note from me.
one will never be.
my friend.
i know your heart.
the dearest of all i know.
it is uncomplicated, without pride.

i know you as i know myself.
i reach out.
you dive in.
the mirror is 
the same surface as ever before.

for i took you
my friend,
                  swimming in your forged and
                  piercing obsidian eyes,
only
        a gentle-woman, and
                                               one i love.

i want to celebrate with you,
i came to say so,
should you read this, know.