trying to figure out precisely where, on the road map that is your face
home is,
is harder then you think
when you are a gypsy soul
and my feet are rooted in concrete.
all i need is some sweet sustenance to fall right back in
your arms
sugar coated words filling up my head with what ifs and what could be's, humoring me. logic sweetly dripping down from my brain into my salivary glands like fresh wildflower honey..
after all isn't that love?
reckless abandon  
i find myself in a scurry as i plaster my brain in yellow post it notes of the nice things you've said to try to remind myself that it will be okay, the sun will still shine tomorrow
but then a hurricane comes and all those post it notes get swept away and i am left wind chapped,
breathless battered and bruised. 


you
are
this
hurricane
.


         and
every time you come home to me, my love
i don't know which version of you will walk through that door
my skeleton reaches out through my skin to embrace you
but my heart hides deep within my chest and painfully pangs against my rib cage as words fall off your tongue
you are an inconsistency
like the ever changing tide
rolling, thrashing
then somehow still and peaceful.
i often lay awake at night feeling the aftermath of the waves and wondering how you can be both things at once
but neither entirely.