Loving Outloud

He hates opera.
says hip hop is the future!
I nod - say nothing.

Turn it down!! I beg.
he's happy when his music
harasses the birds.

While driving, we're more
like strangers than man and wife,
one- third of our lives

have been spent this way:
in his car, fighting about
which station to play.

As the steam rises
from my ears, he calls me "dear”,
turning the channel to

NPR, where we
listen to other people
fight about nothing.

He knows my strange ways-
he has helped write my story.
Seeing me at my
very best, and worst,
he wipes my tears, calming me
with just a glance.

He is my Sunday
revival, my sonnet, when
I can't find the words-

he taps his fingers
along my spine, pulling the
poems out of me.

He sails my spirit
to the clouds…who needs music
when love's this loud?
​