She said she was an untamed storm,
—a lost soul in an unending whirlwind.
Or maybe a mess.
Broken. Shattered. Falling.

She said she was a curse,
—a throb that would never let go.
Or maybe a sting.
A bite. A wound. A burn.

You tremble, you fear that
I’ll give up because
you are a chaos, and eventually
I can see that in you.

But then in a flick of my lips, I always knew.

Though my bones will crumble in pain,
I’ll embrace that storm in you.

Though my soul will bleed and cry,
I’ll kiss that curse goodbye.

Warm. Sweet. Gentle.
I always see you beautiful after the storm;
Tranquil after the pain.
And more than perfect
in my arms.