Love Poems & Poetry

The eyes to my soul, the one who knows me inside and out, outside and in. I know where it starts and you know where it ends. My equal, my opposite, the every fiber of my being. From my hair follicle to the expressions on my face, passing my supple caramel dipped bosom, sinuously tracing my silhouette down past my navel, visiting that sweet place where our treasures are hidden, you know that place, where only you and I dwell. On down to my tender knee caps, past the smooth roads I call legs, to the very feet that I stand on. My mirror. When I look at you, I see my reflection, I see my true self. The real self, and mirrors don’t lie. Mirrors always show the imperfections that you try to conceal. A flawed diamond in the rough I am, but even so my reflection still remains. I still see myself when I gaze at what stands in front of me. I still see the aptitude of what I bequested from my mother. The greatness, the strength, the exquisiteness, the intelligence, the perseverance, the depth of my love for my replication. And replicas are hard to come across. I call you my replica because you are what I am and I am what you are. Exact, precise, and thorough. Not like some lousy knock off you find in the dollar store for 99cents, but, the kind that you only see on infomercials advertising that one time only deal! The kind many wish that they could have, but could never afford. The kind that’s platinum coated and diamond crusted and put in a trophy case for everyone to observe and marvel. The kind where you just have to do a double, triple, and a quadruple take, to try to bask in the ambiance of its magnificence. That’s what we are. Me and my reflection. Yes there are rocky roads and stormy waters and hurricanes and earthquakes and wild fires and tsunamis and mud slides and life and death. But my mirror has yet to break. My reflection is still unbroken. Because when my mirror breaks, my reflection breaks, and then I won’t have that truth, that real shit, that bona fide, uncut, uncensored, unedited devotion that only my likeness shows. You read me like an ecclesiastic reads the bible. You know every book, every chapter, every verse and every psalm. You mean to me what the moon means to the stars. Everything. And without the moon, the night sky wouldn’t look as picturesque. So without my reflection, I wouldn’t be able to see myself. I would be blind, walking in a dark, opaque, vast world that we call existence. I can’t fathom what it must feel like not to have a reflection to look into when you wake up in the morning. I can’t comprehend how it must feel to wake up to a stranger looking back at you digging into your mind, and manipulating your thoughts. I can’t envision looking into a mirror that only shows you your face and not your whole self. So to you, I dedicate this limerick from the deepest part of my consciousness. To you I bestow myself to be your mirror’s image for eternity, forever, for all time, always, indefinitely, eons, endlessly, eternally, until the end of time, for life, ad infinitum, indeterminately, open-endedly, and all the other words that exist to describe this era. God couldn’t have given me a more stunning manifestation of Himself. So for that I am humbled and thankful. And the next time I ask my mirror who the best one of them all is, I’ll just tell it, “His name is Love.”

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