Beautiful Holly is golden with golden skin, her hair like honey-waves. She says I have to write to my audience, in my head I say I have to stay true to my heart. Her lips of rich caramel, mellow gold, and lovely pollen. Her body is the map of my world. She shoots me down, raises me up, I dance on the edge of her heart. I creep her yellow creamed skin and the white light of the aureate shine of her legs. She brings me coffee, I package my love a hundred ways to make her move the way she moves. I am terrible at being a man and more terrible at being her husband. This knife through this heart to bleed all I can give her. Beautiful Holly so auspicious in her realms of delight, a body of a Golden Age adorned with kissed petals of a blissful rose, her bread a precious wheat, her fountain the undulant sea. Such delicate breasts of liquid gold, topped in light pink rose. Her neck, a vision, flaxen and rich, and eyes rising to sea and sky meeting my eyes of ultramarine, cobalt, sapphire, cerulean... Beautiful Holly decorated this window of our home. If I'm going write of the world she will be my rock, the fountain head of all things good that come from me. I am collecting stories of people. I am writing a thousand words. Holly has made this possible. My words are the gift Beautiful Holly has made possible. She swaddles Juliana Skye in the great light of grace...
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