Dec 2017
WHAT IS IT YOU WANT FROM HER?
the sweltering hot of her eyes on me | her words on my neck like the Pacific Northwest shoreline, horizon bleeding into ocean | an endless life with her, my muse, and I, her rock | the touch of her fingertips on mine like a blue-bright fire, turning her ashes back to phoenix | a symphony in major key, a full marching band playing in 5/4 time, when she lets me brush her hair from her face | the light in her eyes will dance as we do
WHAT ABOUT THE PAIN?
what of the pain? I’ve felt the worst there is | give me a life filled with love and I will take the hurt, take the bitterness, take the Hardness and make it soft as i always have | give me a lover who will open Her arms to me and welcome my uninhibited adoration without hesitation and I will ache for her when she has gone | if I just get to touch the palms of her hands, Lord, I will be grateful for the heartache
WHO IS SHE?
she is the lighthouse and I am the ****** | she is the ****** and I am the lighthouse | or maybe she is the Siren and I am the seaweed through which she navigates to lure men to their death | she is the smell of hot asphalt after a summer rain, she is Spite, she is Greed, she is Bitterness, she is all-consuming | she is Rage and beauty and she encompasses me with her softness and I will adore her | her tenacity is earth-shattering, and if she must leave me, I pray she will grant me the honor of breaking me
WHAT IF SHE STAYS, WHAT THEN?
Mussorgsky’s Hopak will forever play in our home-- we will dance with agile, joyous togetherness through our kitchen, hands and faces covered in flour | my heart will know pain, will know ache, but nothing of longing | she will, I pray, wake every day knowing that she is the softest of kisses to the cheek, she is the feeling of sleeping on brisk summer evenings with nothing but a sheet to cover your feet, she is, in all her flaws, Holy, and Burning
the sweltering hot of her eyes on me | her words on my neck like the Pacific Northwest shoreline, horizon bleeding into ocean | an endless life with her, my muse, and I, her rock | the touch of her fingertips on mine like a blue-bright fire, turning her ashes back to phoenix | a symphony in major key, a full marching band playing in 5/4 time, when she lets me brush her hair from her face | the light in her eyes will dance as we do
WHAT ABOUT THE PAIN?
what of the pain? I’ve felt the worst there is | give me a life filled with love and I will take the hurt, take the bitterness, take the Hardness and make it soft as i always have | give me a lover who will open Her arms to me and welcome my uninhibited adoration without hesitation and I will ache for her when she has gone | if I just get to touch the palms of her hands, Lord, I will be grateful for the heartache
WHO IS SHE?
she is the lighthouse and I am the ****** | she is the ****** and I am the lighthouse | or maybe she is the Siren and I am the seaweed through which she navigates to lure men to their death | she is the smell of hot asphalt after a summer rain, she is Spite, she is Greed, she is Bitterness, she is all-consuming | she is Rage and beauty and she encompasses me with her softness and I will adore her | her tenacity is earth-shattering, and if she must leave me, I pray she will grant me the honor of breaking me
WHAT IF SHE STAYS, WHAT THEN?
Mussorgsky’s Hopak will forever play in our home-- we will dance with agile, joyous togetherness through our kitchen, hands and faces covered in flour | my heart will know pain, will know ache, but nothing of longing | she will, I pray, wake every day knowing that she is the softest of kisses to the cheek, she is the feeling of sleeping on brisk summer evenings with nothing but a sheet to cover your feet, she is, in all her flaws, Holy, and Burning
