I am not ashamed of the Garden
I am not ashamed
of the garden God planted across her body,
From her scars, the the darkness of her skin.
I’m just grateful,
to be allowed beside her
Near her valley lows and mountain highs.
I am there to catch her and hold her through it all.
My hands handle with care,
No caution but praise,
She is the wife of my soul,
my body,
my spirit.
I cry, not for sorrow but for joy.
There’s a prayer on my lips
poured out loud,
always near to her heart.
Her body tells a story of a once hurt woman now healed and redeemed.
She falls down to her knees and praises God.
Then rises up with me, hands clasped.
A queen in her own right, one i am honored to stand beside.
And I have never wanted anything
more than I want
her.
Here.
Now.
Her scars never bothered me
it summoned me. Humbled me.called me forth.
I want her beauty,
her ugly,
her fire and her ash.
I want the holy hush
after her praise.
And I want to wake up
to the woman she is
long after the midnight hour
has passed.
Inhale.
A Selah.
Exhale.
Amen.
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