Written on ancestral burial grounds, in the crevasses of the afterlife and the actuality of life, are poems to an inspiring love. Poems to a mesmerizing, fantastical, highly sensational, beast like, yet proper and reformed, type of love. I wrote them, many moons ago on the roots too deep to dig out, on soil rich like the Garden of Eden. I wrote them about you, about the love we shared like life. I wrote them about you. Consistently like living and breathing. I carved them into bone and flesh, into their own language. Love, I gave you life through writing. Love, I gave you life. I gave you freedom to roam the Earth to spread the good news. Love, you have given me life. You have given me hope. And peace. I’ve written about you in descending stars for people to wish upon a miracle. Writing about you is living.