Mine

I call my lover mine,
But not like a toothbrush or a book—
Mine, like the street I grew up on,
Mine to know, to tend, to share.

Mine, as the neighborhood belongs to all,
Each corner, familiar yet unclaimed.
Not mine to hold or bind,
But mine to love, to walk beside.

Not "belongs to me,"
But "belongs with me,"
A presence, steady and unspoken,
A trust that blooms quietly.

Mine—not as possession,
But as devotion,
A simple truth,
Belonging only in the space we create together.