The truth is I feel many things at once, more than eleven though I’d like to confine it for the symbolism of this occasion.
Eleven months have I really known you, slept beside you, laughed and loved and wept - the way a box of colours offers life in the promise of amusement.
We have done so much living, (eleven months do I frame), you have slept beside me, laughed and loved and wept, and even at times we have washed some of our brushes hastily after the mess, like thieves cleaning any trace of existence. (You have taught me to choose more carefully).
Today I read an article in the newspaper written so poorly I couldn’t decipher it’s meaning. And I tell you this now because I have grown this way; to show you the picture after I paint it.
Eleven months you have let me win, shown me where to begin, like choosing which cause to believe in.
Quick when you come
Hot on my cheeks
Gentle on your tongue
Restless in your sleep
Heavy with a hunger
Wild in the ocean
Perfect in your laughter
Rhythmic beside me (inside me)
Soft on the verge
Hurried up the stairs
Silent when I’m not there
Eleven months have I loved your breathing.
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