He calls her sunshine, even on days
when her sky is covered with heavy clouds
and the rain and its fragrance fills
every corner of her earth.
And even as the storm rages within her
and the winds howl like restless monsters
trying to break free from the shackles
that tie them down, he calls her sunshine.

He calls her love, even on days
when she is hardest to love and
a thousand other words are more fitting.
He meets her at the end of her anger,
with arms wide open and a quiet smile that says,
“I will always be here to love you,
even on the days when you can’t find it in you
to love yourself.”

He calls her beautiful, even on days
when the chaos within and without
leaves her disheveled and windswept.
He calls her beautiful, even on days
when the darkness that she’s managed to tame
rears its head with bitterness and malice;
oh, he calls her beautiful with a patience
that rivals the depths and the expanse of the universe.

He calls her his queen, even on days
when her bearing is more befitting a fool
and less than a queen – without elegance
nor grace, but with unbridled laughter
and joy that’s as bright as the midday sun.