she
smokes a joint
after *** (the
music fading like
clouds)
he says
he loves her even when
she's wrong
(his voice a
soft thread of
certainty)

he would
defend her
(unlike
those others)
against the fire of
her parents'
words
and with her could
debate
the stars,
the sky,
the silent spin
of worlds
unseen

he keeps her
like a queen (but
only because they
build
their kingdom together,
brick by
brick
in the quiet
hours)

their late-night
conversations
map the
unspoken terrain
of what love means
when the clock
whispers secrets

she waits
(always,
always) for him—
stitching
fragments of his
family into something
whole
like she pieces
herself together,
tender hands
wrapping around
his sharp edges

she speaks
to the wolf in him
that rises
with the lunar pull of
his control,
her words
the tether,
the calm,
the stilling wind.