she ran through the woods with the leaves catching on her heels

damp wet earth clinging to the soles of her feet

her hands  the branches each strand of wood saying hello to her calloused palms

she spoke to the open air with a  promise of honesty

each word resonating with the rhythm of the rustle of the leaves

the candle in her heart flickered when the wind finally found her hair

he finally found her

sitting behind a bench made of rocks covered in moss and caterpillars

and he gave her a flower

she took the flower and stuck it in the space between her dress and the ribbon holding it together

her thighs rubbed when she walked over to him

she was no skinny love

he trembled in her presence

his love terrified by her beauty

she was beautiful, and she was his?

She said she was love’s, and love’s alone.

Not his, but she belonged to love itself.

But if he loved her, then love was willing to share.