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It’s golden curls,

That twist tightly

Taking me down the yellow slide

From second grade.

It’s round-rimmed glasses,

That magnify clear, bright eyes,

Pulling me down the river

From my dad’s photo album.

It’s soft smiles,

That covers me gently,

Bringing me to a field

On a cloudy night.

It’s hand squeezes,

That warm my fingers

Showing me the red mittens

My mother made me.

It’s belly aches,

That result from fits of laughter,

Taking me to music made for spinning

That ends with us tripping.

It’s saying “I love you”,

That results from those small moments,

Where the only thing that matters,

Is the distance from my face to yours.

It’s losing my keys,

And the look of pure amusement

That spreads across your face,

Urging me to lose my keys a thousand more times.

It’s you,

And the warmth that you bring me.

The fireplace in my soul,

That you’ve once more lit.