Maybe at the edge of tears, with light on your hand
Maybe at the end of a world, that was made of woe and pain
Maybe with the cloud that comes running down your cheek
Maybe with the sound of courage inside your heart so weak

It could be you, under the rain beating at my feet
It could be me, the black ink spilled on your white sheets
It could be you, sofltly smiling for slow decades
It could be me, the eye trapped in these dark grey shades

Who knows what can happen
Here in this heart, beneath the sun ?
Hidden behind your gates
Here in this heart, it all awaits

Maybe at the tip of lips that stayed closed for too long
Maybe at the top of hills, a line between right and wrong
Maybe with the stars of gold, shining in your mind
Maybe with the words of love, those you could never find

It could be you, holding the arm of a good friend
It could be me, with memories buried in the sand
It could be you, with joy and mindholes at the seams
It could be me, always gentle or so it seems

Who knows what can happen
Here in this heart, beneath the sun ?
Hidden behind your gates
Here in this heart, it all awaits

You blew me away, like a
                                   feather in the wind.
The very first second I saw you,
                                                   I knew there
was no way I could keep up.  You swept me
             away with your wild currents.
          When I first met you,
                      I thought, I was weak.
I thought you would surely extinguish my flame
  with the tiniest whisper.
          But you showed me that I
                   needed  
                        you to be stronger,
          that I needed you to burn brighter,
not because I was weak, not because I needed a man, but
                      because you were my
other half.

Unravelling as we were woven together,
she was whole,
                               but I was losing strands
of conscious motions.  

Even though I was fraying,
       she wound her strength
around my insecurities, making us stronger.
              As a whole instead of two separate values.

Love has a way of holding two parts together,
                     even though we may unravel.
Together we bond making us stronger
              than anything separate, we are one love.

I unravel the scrolls hidden
Deep, dark secrets unwritten
Wordless experiences
The blank pages of your heart
No pen and paper relay

All your fear and pain
All the loss and gain
Those things you put away
Reflecting off your face
Though not written, I read

And you ask if I can mend
The emotional cuts that tend
To take a little piece of you
Slowly making you less and less
But I don't know where you went

A stranger is all I see
And I can't say we're meant to be
But if you're still in there
Somewhere, hidden, I swear
I'll unravel you

JM 4/26/17

You, my dear, are a mystery.

I often leave deep crescents on the palm of my hand— leaving them throbbing a shade of crimson— whenever i get frustrated. And, well, I would be lying if I said that you didn't ever frustrate me. Hell, you frustrate me all the time.

You're a mystery not craving to be solved, but nonetheless still leaves everyone wanting to be able to find the answer to a question—unexplainable by any thing besides you.

You're a mystery and I'm just someone who wants to unravel you.

I can't trace the crown of my indifference towards you (or anyone else) to a definitive source.
Whether you are strung to me or I to you,
our union imports
several interpretations.

You might be like fishing wire:
binding limbs, constricting movement;
if I deviate, I suffer your sharp cut of resistance.

Maybe you're yarn: soft, nurturing; but again, any move that falls outside the lines of your predicated design--any undue tightening or loose end--results in chaos.

Or perhaps you are the hand that draws the line:
you, the invisible puppeteer
who governs my every wayward glance
or dishonest act at the whim of your object, your desire;
one string leads to the
magnetism of your cologne
and another, the heat
of your knees in fitted jeans
against mine.
If it be that,
then, my indifference would serve as my aide,
a final desperate cling to autonomy.

But what if we were both cast
in the same web, rendered useless
through entanglement, would we
claw towards each other, content
though the silk grows thick
with every reach?
Would we tear our way to liberty?
Or if we were to find that thing-
the source-
and cut all ties,
would magnetism wind us up again?

If I unravel, what would you do?
If you unravel, would I leave you
in a pile at my feet?
Would I cast dead strings aside
and embrace the freshness-
raw and bleeding but alive-
beneath the rage?