She says she has an opening
At 9:15 a.m. Thursday morning.
Whose permission do I need
To respond to what is essentially
My own request, my own persistence,
My own action. Do I regret it
Or don’t I?
Do I dare to eat this peach?
Do I dare to bring this moment--
At 9:15 Thursday morning--
To its crisis?
Will the mermaids still not sing to me
When I become less willing to drown,
Or will they sing louder than for
Anyone else, for want of that
Which they cannot have?
I will arrive at 9:15 a.m.
On Thursday morning
With the bottoms of my trousers rolled,
Not to dip my feet into the
Misleadingly temperate waters,
But to show a counselor
The over-worn, many-colored
And many-patterned
Socks that I wear
Much too often,
And she will tell me
It’s warm enough outside
To just wear sandals.

That first night, I pulled out all the pulp of my swollen, pumpkin heart and showed it to you.
All full and wet and messy
You cupped in your hands the filling from your own heart
Much the same as mine

And we shared a likeness
Two souls born real and rich
Out of garden patch dirt
Full of gourds and crickets

I trusted your blossoms and your stems and your weeds
But you stowed it all away as suddenly as you came
And I'm still standing here
With all my stringy
Sopping soul
Exposed.

what brings me solace in this cold world?
when the days are short,
the sun doesn’t come up anymore.
scarcity is all we know.
scarcity in love.
hope.
freedom.
peace.
the twinkle in your eyes,
the widening of your lips.
when you kiss me, it all crashes.
and just for a moment,
one very moment,
the world feels still—
and hope exists.
-v.la

I come from far away,
I'm here to save and to protect your vulnerability,
your fright,
the unknown nature of your mind.
as you grow wise, your life will have the meaning you are searching for.