The Cartography of Her

Her love arrived not as a storm,

But as the changing of a norm.

It was the dawn I hadn't known,

A seed of peace that she had sown.

It isn't loud, it isn't bold,

A story that is rarely told.

It's in the quiet, in the deep,

The promises the soul will keep.

I find her love in morning light,

In stolen kisses, soft and slight.

In how she knows my coffee cup,

And always, always, fills it up.

I find it in her patient hands,

That understand the unplanned plans.

The way she reads my silent face,

And gives me my own breathing space.

Her love's the harbor in the gale,

The gentle wind that fills my sail.

It is the anchor, firm and true,

That sees me through what I go through.

It is the laughter, deep and clear,

That banishes my every fear.

It is the comfort, warm and real,

A love I genuinely feel.

She does not seek to change my soul,

But makes my broken pieces whole.

She loves the parts I try to hide,

And stands with unwavering pride.

She is the map and she the shore,

The one my heart was searching for.

And in her eyes, I finally see,

The woman I was meant to be.

So this is not a simple rhyme,

It transcends space and it transcends time.

It is the truth my spirit knows,

How beautifully her love just grows.

And in the cartography of me,

She is the only land I see.

My compass, and my true north star,

No matter who we are.