The Altar

My eyes fall when met with your sage set

Is it obvious you still make me nervous?

My walls fall when you kiss me, softly 

I’ve told you these seven years: that look is deadly

she reflects

I remember being eighteen

February: a California winter otherwise known as Spring

A full of hope romantic lost in a daydream

Penning my ideal husband like I was making a grocery list 

I’ll never admit that I read too many novels

I won’t deny that sometimes I wonder if this is it

But when the lights go out and you’re still there beside me

An arm around me, warm cheek resting on my brow

I remember that this ordinary, imperfect love 

Is truer and more real than any idealized version of it

And for that, I’ll never falter

Oh God, I pray it’s always your face waiting for me at the altar