Damion, one month since we said “I do,” and still I fall—more deeply into you. Though miles lie folded where your hands should be, your voice makes every distant room home to me. I wear your promise in a ring of gold; at night, it’s you my empty arms would hold. I count no stars—just days till distance ends, till road and sky deliver me again. My husband, let the waiting have its due: one month of marriage, all my life for you. And when at last your arms draw me inside, I’ll fall once more—your love, your home, your bride.