Christa,
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth of your hard, shapely pecs,
and breadth of your perfectly formed lats and delts,
and the height of your incomparable bicep peaks;
and the height My soul can reach, when I imagine feeling
Your magnificence, out of sight
For the ends of your Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
as I worship photos, clips and memory of a too quick meeting
in New York
I love thee and your matchless combination of beauty and strength freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee and thy mighty muscles purely,
as they turn and flex from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs and fevered moments, and with my childhood's faith.
Alright -- maybe not love, but only because someone got there first. She is the stuff my dreams are made of.
