Anne is Marie. But it’s one word.

i wrote this poem for you at some point and it seems a fine time to share it with you:

she smells like eve in the garden,

rosemary ANd lavender.

her fruitful nature leads us not,

into temptation.

but away from chaos back into order.

her light is what guides us,

her chestnut hair and olive skin,

knows but NEver waivers and in the face of the winds,

she stands,

like a cypress in the torrential spring:

swaying,

defying,

dancing,

commanding,

MAneuvering,

peRsIsting.

she is mErry.

she is an absolute force.

she is imperfectly divine…

she is my love.