You cling to misery
like it's your birthright
and i marvel
at your lack of love,
pulsating
and bright
against my ability to pretend
as i stand in the corridor
between our minds -
waiting
for change.

You pose
as some kind of monster,
and i think you want to be something
darker
than you really are,
some doomed character
of a bleak poem.
but you're not
that bad.
Perhaps, you're as
average
as the rest of us,
or perhaps
the rest of us
are just
as doomed
as you.

This is no lower pleasure
and while purely physical and only ever fleeting,
i do not mind.
i like the raindrops on my face and the heavy green canopy above my head,
thriving.
i like the wild lightness of being small somewhere big,
and i like your eyes when they meet mine , and i catch glimpses of your soul -
candid, and spectacular.
i enjoy the tactile pleasure of tree-bark beneath my fingertips and your fingertips upon my skin
i like the sound of words as they leave our lips and hang in the air between us
i like the comfort i feel, wrapped up in her many wooden arms
and i like to sit amongst her bones and feel her presence as my own
soaking me in new understanding.
a simple clarity , as i cease to race the universe
for i understand her now,
and i hope that she doesn't stop raining.