For Gina on Our Ninth Valentine’s Day

In a life misunderstood by most,
the rarest of moments is when another gets you,
like a rainbow’s end,
like a moon tinted blue,
like the green flash at sunset.
How, you may ask, does she get me?
She makes me feel something other than myself.
Because even when quiet she makes me comfortable.
She prefers whiskey over wine,
absinthe over vodka,
conversation over cocktails,
and stogies with the boys,
over cosmos with the girls.
Because she, only she,
sees my tears a fraction before they reach my face.
Because she breathes freedom to my spirit
and satisfies the curiosity of my mind.
She stimulates the sensuality of my body,
and administers holy communion to my soul.
Because the artist in me must paint,
and she dares pose,
on the canvas of my heart.