How I Love

What is WolfCast?

Literary performance, essays, and spoken-word confessions from an author known only as Woolfinius Jackson Whürl. A voice from the Dust Meridian, reading the pages he never meant to send.

How I Love

Simplest is best

I do not love you the way the sun loves a rose,
nor the way bright things beg to be seen.

I love you the way small things are felt,
the dew trembling on a yellow leaf,
the red bristle of bottlebrush
as a bee settles, slow and certain.

I love you the way shadow slips
into the dark between stones
filling every hollow,
lingering there.

I love you the way a tree, heavy with spring,
holds its unflowered clusters,
tight with promise
sap rising, thick and insistent.

From that love comes the scent of green things breaking open,
rich, warm, almost too much to breathe in.

I love you without needing to understand
only that when I am near you
my body leans toward yours
as if pulled,
as if it already knows
what it wants.

This is me...
unhidden,
unsoftened.

Let me be close to you,
closer than words allow,
where breath meets breath
and lingers,
where heat gathers
and does not leave.

Let me rest against you,
feel the rise and fall of you,
the quiet urgency beneath your skin,
until stillness becomes something else,
something alive,
something asking.

Let me stay there,
in that nearness,
until the distance between us
feels like an ache
neither of us can ignore.

So when you close your eyes,
you don’t just see me...
you feel me,
the warmth,
the pull,
the wanting that does not fade—

and when I close mine,
I am already there with you.

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