I love you the way a flower loves the sun,
each petal opening to praise.
I love you as moisture swells each stem.
I love you the way dawn kisses your window,
the way light caresses your sheets.
I love you casually, as a gentle rain falls
without making a sound.
My love is blind, stumbling, groping in the dark.
I love you like a schoolboy consumed
by his first crush.
I love you as an old man looking back
knows well where he stands.
I love you as a human being,
one life-breathing spirit to another,
under the same sky, morning and night.
I love you as a whisper you long to hear.
My love is unprofessional, amateur,
at-risk of losing everything.
My love is complex, drawing its reason
from the heart, where equations fail
and passion has its way.
I love you wildly, madly, painfully.
And thus, I love you as a weed, as a god,
as fool, as a king, as a clown.
It is the same in any language: my love
is everything, or it is nothing at all.
© 2013 Ron Watson