To My Queen, My Gracious Divine Delight
This morning, I stumbled where I should have risen.
I let silence take the place of praise,
forgot the rhythm that your name deserves to be spoken with.
Forgive me, my love—
not just for the moment I let slip,
but for all the ways I should’ve shown you
that you are my everything, my always.
Seven months.
Seven months of building a temple with you—
brick by brick, kiss by kiss.
Seven months of learning the language of your soul,
where every word tastes like honey,
and every silence speaks volumes.
Seven months of being held
by the kind of love that carries ancestors in its roots,
the kind of love that knows the weight of storms
but stands unshaken, unbreakable.
For you every moment is an awakening of your devine essence
Everytime you fix your crown ,the earth resonates in angelic concord that prophesies your royalty
Your steps solidifies as the road cracks beneath them.
Your spirit—soft yet unyielding—is the kind
that lifts nations,
that bends injustice into harmony.
you wear grace like it’s stitched into your skin,
like it’s your birthright, passed down
through the prayers of women who knew
what it meant to hold the world
and still find space for joy.
Your love is a rhythm I never knew I needed—
a heartbeat syncopated with mine,
a song that hums in my blood.
It’s the way you see me,
all of me,
and never flinch.
It’s the way your laughter rewrites the narrative,
turns pain into prose,
reminds me that healing is possible
even in the darkest of nights.
Seven months feels like a revolution—
like we’ve already lived lifetimes in each other’s arms.
Your love is freedom, baby,
freedom in the way it holds me accountable,
lifts me higher,
makes me better just by being near you.
You are my sanctuary, my north star,
my reminder that our love isn’t just beautiful;
it’s holy.
And so today, I celebrate you.
The queen who speaks life into her people,
who fights with fire in her heart
but carries gentleness in her hands.
I celebrate your consistency,
your loyalty,
your love that feels like coming home.
I celebrate the way you never waver,
even when life tries to shake us.
I celebrate the way you love—
with intention, with depth,
with the kind of energy that creates worlds.
Seven months, my queen,
and yet, I know this is only the beginning.
We’ve written poetry in every moment we’ve shared,
and I promise to keep writing,
to keep showing up for you,
This is for you, baby.
For your strength, your grace, your tenacity.
For being the kind of woman
that every love song and every revolution is about.
You are my queen, my muse,
my forever.
Here’s to us—
to seven months and infinite tomorrows.
Forever and always,
Your humble poet.
