You should know that I complain.
A lot.
About the heat and the snow
and the ******* that cut me off on my way to the store.
I will complain. And whine.
Because no one ever listened before.

You should know that I might shy away from your fingers.
My self esteem has been smothered beyond resurrection
and I'll hide my face in the sunlight
and cower, blushing and shamed
when your hands show even the slightest hint of lust.

I hope you understand
that I will smile.
I will smile about the trees and the wind
and comment on the way tendrils of mist
wind through the valley
or how the colors of the pasture
are so vibrant in April.
And I will smile and sing to the windows.
You will listen, I hope.

You should know that sometimes,
when we creep along the highway in the evening
and a song comes on, dripping with sentiment
in the way the sun sets behind the mountains,
I will want you to be silent.
Hushed and still as the horizon.
I will need the radio up, the voices off,
I will need your fingers in mine.

I want you to know that I crave a listener.
An understand-er.
A know-er and do-er.
A lover.
I need silence and peace
and long drives into the dark.
I need whispers and songs
and summer breezes in the bedroom.
I need and want and lust and whine.


I'm selfish and sad
and I know you'll understand someday.
even if it takes a life-time.