I wrote this over a year ago for my old blog. Some days I think it’s a pile of crap, but most of the time I like it, even if it’s about someone that doesn’t exist.

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Size does not determine power. That has never changed for me.
The man I imagine has always had his own brand of force.
Reducing his height in my fantasies,
Enveloping his world with mine,
Never means he becomes a mouse, weak, or prostrate
Great I am to him, an earth-moving, ground-quaking woman
To me he is a different kind of great, in heart and mind
His valor does not falter to booming steps or thundering voice

“Come close,” he calls, “closer still, giantess.”
“Over my land, my home, my body,” and I see it, have always seen a
Union of two, equal though he fits in my hand, and
Refuses to give in simply because my fingers wrap him tightly
Admonishes gently, kindly, without fear, when his
Giantess behaves in a way she should not
Elevates me in ways that have nothing to do with my height

Soul he infuses in everything he touches
Perfect he is not, and sometimes he falls off his small pedestal.
In the way he writes, works, sings, leaves his footprints on my heart, he
Rises to every occasion, influences those around him
Improves, rectifies, expands what he touches
Takes much less than all he gives

He laughs often, never falsely or at the expense of others
Understands my own brand of fun, a “silly giantess”, he calls me
Moods go up and down, because I do not always imagine him happy
Only our fairy-tale fights are short lived
Reconciliation is always sweet, warm, and true, just like him

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