there's always fear on the

heels of love...who you

thought you were.

seeing the eyes of

who you'll be...just in the wait

of who you really are.

love is always more or

less love, your casualness in

finding who you think you are.

you'll lose your shoes

at the door for sure.

something wants to hold on

with the frenzied hand

of a lost child.

supremely still yet panting...

for a face that will justify

being.