There’s a place of perfect simmer
where the flame runs just so high,
never quite to boiling over,
neither still a tepid bath.
At least that’s what you insisted to me
in your frustration at my inability
to find a soft place to land between
pulses of ecstasy and re-heated casserole.
Even still you love me
like a whirlwind loves the dust,
gathering it in by picking it up,
steadying it's spin by collecting debris.
I thought we would make a respectable tornado,
together, instead I find myself
breaking loose from your gentleness
and destroying homes, alone.
If only the weather could tell us whether
we were headed for perfection or destruction.
If only the *** I stir could be a crystal ball.
If only I could love you
as much as I do.
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 2:09 AM UTC
There’s a place of perfect simmer
where the flame runs just so high,
never quite to boiling over,
neither still a tepid bath.
At least that’s what you insisted to me
in your frustration at my inability
to find a soft place to land between
pulses of ecstasy and re-heated casserole.
Even still you love me
like a whirlwind loves the dust,
gathering it in by picking it up,
steadying it's spin by collecting debris.
I thought we would make a respectable tornado,
together, instead I find myself
breaking loose from your gentleness
and destroying homes, alone.
If only the weather could tell us whether
we were headed for perfection or destruction.
If only the *** I stir could be a crystal ball.
If only I could love you
as much as I do.
A co-write with my good friend Jamie Johnson.
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