The swamp

Out of the many years I’d been lost in 

icy blue lakes or deep brown wooded areas

I’m glad to be immersed in this brownish green swamp

Your eyes.

People say eyes are the gateway to the soul

That maybe true with how beautiful your soul must be

A beautiful soul in a beautiful hazel swamp

You’re as soft as a pillow 

The pillow I hug to sleep at night

Wishing you Could take the place of it

Your hand soft cold hands touching the rough and warm surface of my acne scarred face

you always tell me “I love the texture of your face. It’s different from others”

I don’t mind the years I picked at my face

Or when I happen to have a breakout

I don’t pick anymore, but I know you don’t mind the texture

Not minding the other textures on my body

The scars that scatter my body

Either

 from being a clumsy child

Or

 a hurt teen

You treat them all the same

Like it’s in the past

Not many people do that anymore.

Making me feel like angels must be real if you’re this kind

No god is kind in my eyes

But whatever god created your personality 

They must be a caring one in the lest

Maybe Apollo, a god of light, music, and healing

Because you are my muse, my sunlight

You’ve helped me so much

What you do to me mentally

i could repeat like a night time prayer

Or maybe I say that because Apollo is one of your favorite Greek gods 

All things I think when I look into your swampy hazel eyes 

We met young, but I’ve been sure since we started dating

How you are the love of my life.