i have held you so long
these nights in my dreams
insisting all things are possible
determined to manifest
however thick the night nothing envelops the skyline
and days then months tick by
drawing from the opacity of our options
imagining
running to, consuming you
ravenous
legs like tentacles
pulling, hands linked
into my bed
for an endless, melted exhale
my spine softening against your breath
between my shoulder blades
and gently filling
my body
quite literally
with everything I want
spectacularly,
i cut a green path without
and about you
in which my outstretched fingers and tired bones
unrequited
do not wither from drought
or retreat from unwelcome sneers
but rather volunteer
unguarded, independent
perhaps even look for trouble
beg for downpours that stun the skin and flush the toxins
trust that light follows eventually
it is not obedient
no schoolgirl hope for signed permission slips
or awkward fumblings
a crocus, crowned
rightness assured
where once was desolation
awake in a miracle
knowing love that renders time irrelevant
succor wraps my ankles in green
and the stars are crystalline
from here
you
have chosen low risk investment
in a life less controversial
perhaps intentionally
where there are no true guest rooms
or multidimensional experiences
for us pursue in disco colors
no sun-dappled trails to lope down, arms linked
glances which speak paragraphs
to share anymore
i stake my claim
a traveler in this renewal of purpose
licensed, registered
to grasp another with such intent and honor
where my feet find the sand
near the wood stove, curtains thrown back to reveal dawn
listening for the crackle of air escaping cut cedar
if no longer hopeful you’ll burst in with an overflowing suitcase
and collapse into my arms weary, relieved,
hungry for only the way i cook
longing for only the way i talk
lifted by only the way i move through the world
desperate to belong to me
and our eyes meet like polar ends
educating future generations on how it’s done to love furiously
and with ribboned joy
so happily knotted years later one cannot find the ends
or know where we began
it is
permanent, regardless,
still and forever mine.
My love was created as a spoken poem, but is to me like a traveling vine that blooms brilliantly at the end of the piece. Someday this will be a choreographed piece, or perhaps a painting.