Beloved

You are the hugs

That never held me

as a child,

the kisses that never tasted

that bitter blood.

But your tongue

Now lingers over

the raised scar tissue

from bicycles and potato peelers.

You are

Who my soul loves.

You are mine, beloved.

You tell me stories.

You had your own Brutus,

A knife in the back.

Your own Judas,

A kiss on the cheek.

But here you are now.

Ruth has followed

you home.

Welcome home.

I am yours, beloved.

Now let us go

Sing the song!

Let us go

to Solomon’s garden!

Let us go

To the Holiness!

You dress me in robes.

On you I place a crown.

Kneel with me.

We whisper between the cherubim.

“We are yours, Beloved.”