GIFT (a sketchy February)

What do you think I wrapped for you,
a pot of gold made with silver covering?
Do you think I bought the heavens
and put it in a box of butterflies?
I am not petty enough to bucket your tears
I am not humble enough to read your love letters.

What do you think I wrapped for you,
a lush green friendly smile with a color of the sun?
Wait! Don’t say the moon
Don’t even think I remembered your birthday
our anniversaries that had an emblem of tickles.
I didn’t light candles to show you the way to the bed,
I’d rather use it on a wooden bridge.

So here’s what I remember getting you;
a very soft moon-like smile
a humble laughter the color of fun
a memoir for your skin,
a page with a string of sternness
the blue shoes your feet never tasted
I remember a bag the color of fire and night
your hands never touched them.
I was brimstone, I was wood
I was silence in trouble waters
I wasn’t god, I wasn’t thunder
I did know that everything of me was a gift to you
but you never knew.

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