Tender Magic

You described me as tender magic

And I called you a list of the most beautiful things I could see in the room

A half rolled cigarette with a fray of tobacco clinging to the paper

A twist of rope used as a keychain

A mess of yesterday’s clothes left pooled by the bed

A note adorned with your illegible handwriting, 

A three week old to do list, half crossed off, and otherwise forgotten 

A two day old glass of water set by the bed, unfinished

You called me a gentle giant

And I recalled everything I liked about your face

Your crows feet

Uneven lips

Those lines that go from your lips to the corners of your mouth

The asymmetrical shape of your eyebrows

Your hair where it meets your face in a soft fuzz

The line on your forehead that you worry will deepen with age, but that I love

Your soft ear lobe between my fingers

You called me your lover

And I called you a list of my favourite scents

Petrichor, concrete after rain

Skin lathered with sun cream

The old pennies, in a jar on the table by my bed

Almond oil, warmed by the hands of a Masseure

Burnt out birthday candles, wax dripping towards the cake

The sweat of loved ones, after a night of dancing

Your bedsheets, after we have slept together in them