Bello, you call me "beautiful" every day
and ask me did I know:
Did I know you love me?
Did I know I am cute?
Did I know?
Did I know?
Twenty something years roll by
of tenacious love
and constant affection
towards the thing in me
that isn't easy to see.
Who loves me in my darkness,
who supports me in my rage,
who reminds me he loves me
when I'm out of pocket
and need to turn the page?
I hold you, though
you are tough-skinned enough
to love me,
so carefully in my hand,
like an irreplaceable rarity
because that is you.
I treat you as fragile because
nothing
loving me
should be treated any other way.
And I fear I will hurt
what I love.
