my walls
crumbling down
my reservations
fading
my guards
dismantling.

I can feel
my heart
my mind
my body
my soul
opening up
for you.

I ask myself whether
this is good or bad.

I feel terrified
I am terrified

Of what I feel
For you.

She is a sweeper
She swept everything
Under the brown fuzzy rug
In her living room.

Old magazines
books
newspapers
Old photographs
records
love letters.

She swept them all
Under the brown fuzzy rug
In her living room.

One day
It turned into a hill.
All the things she swept
under the brown fuzzy rug
in her living room
turned into a hill.

But she didn't mind.
She kept sweeping
old friendships
romantic relationships
truth
lies
feelings
regrets
mistakes
apologies
forg­iveness
into the hill
under the brown fuzzy rug
in her living room.

The next day
The hill turned into a mountain
She didn't mind
And kept sweeping
Until it exploded

Broken hardwood floor
Burnt brown fuzzy rug
Everything scattered
In her living room.

She stood there
In the middle of the aftermath
Thinking
“Do i throw these all away?"

But she's a sweeper.
So she cleaned the mess
Swept everything back again
Under a new brown fuzzy rug
Laying on her basement floor.

With time i hope we both shall see
Our love bloom like a ripe fruit tree
The glowing gleam from the rays above
shall emulate like the strength of love

Reason burns the prime
leaves in their cinders no solace
for one likely answer are a hundred questions
where crumbling bones can’t have the will
to climb anymore the rungs endless.

Finds beneath feet a resting ground
that in glimmer of hope abound
a tunnel light an emerging design
to craft from chaos a face divine.

Utters a prayer that’s never too late
succumbs blissfully to the savior the faith.

"I prefer my men like my coffee;
strong, dark, and smooth."