Adoration of you
renders me terrified.
I don’t know how you see
so deeply, so sharply,
these fragments,
this patchwork.
Me and my smart mouth
don’t know what to do,
drowning in a loss for words.
Your affections aren’t a language
I have a tongue for.
I’ve forever been
the raging storm;
gales of destruction,
bones bending in when
I’ve gone too far again,
crawling back from the abyss,
fleeing ghosts of
a no-good man or two.
And then there’s you,
in the eye of my hurricane, saying
“You are a beautiful day to me.”
The patience in those eyes
halting a tornado mid-spin
in the middle of a prairie.
Are you the shelter I’ve been
running for all these years,
the door that opens, never to
be slammed in my face,
to be left in another empty room?
I don’t ever want
to be there again.
I want to adore you
in ways a gypsy’s fingers
caress wildflowers
as she saunters roads not travelled.
Yet even the lone spirit
spirals out sometimes,
spitting bitter rain, splitting bones,
with lightening raging, furious thunder.
Sometimes the only way
to soothe the storms is to
whisper something loving,
l.et petals remind me of your touch,
pull the shelter over my head,
set a blanket over my shoulders,
hold on until clouds scatter,
hold on until light breaks,
hold on,
hold on to me,
until I can emerge as
your beautiful day.
