She Was His Gravity

A poem
by Sarah Harvey
Republished without permission
October 3, 2015

She Was His Gravity

She was not his answer.
Or his escape.
She was not a beautifully decorated distraction.
No—she was his challenge.
His question.
His fire.

A gem—worthy of pure, undivided attention,
A bolt of lighting, baked into a warm chocolate éclair,
A prayer encased in lapis lazuli,
A prickle of static electricity running wildly through the forest air.

Her touch was enough to shatter him, deliciously
And awaken his wildest wishes.
Her gaze was enough to sear into his soul
And make honey drip from his skin, like feathered sunlight.

She took him to the edge of the moon, and he draped rubies in her hair.
When they kissed, the earth shook, and trees bled evergreen secrets into their ears.
No matter how far she wandered
Or where her tangerine-dipped dreams took her—she always returned to him.

Nothing could keep her away from his warm, familiar arms
His fiercely kind eyes
That magical laugh of his that lit up the darkness, like a swarm of giggling fireflies.
She was his world,
And he was her gravity.

Together was their only option—
Their hearts meant to intertwine like two frayed golden threads,
They were a fit—two broken pieces
Sliding together, imperfectly.
There was no denying it
She was his world
And he was her gravity.

~ by Chris Hibbard on November 3, 2015.

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