The possible damage would be irreparable.
night I stomped my feet through the floorboards because I wanted to feel my toes
said, “Look hon, now we can see the stars.” He brushed off the debris and put
me to bed. He won’t sleep tonight.
his visions on sheets that hang from the eaves or painting me with psychedelic
designs. It doesn’t matter which. All of it makes me want him more.
Some things I say to him are like sour notes played too often. I’m out of
drunken pace, but we don’t care. Our minds move quickly despite this world’s
petty distractions. It’s us and them, and we’re the only two sane people left.
He makes me nervous, still. His dreams are bigger than both of us. When
we speak the words fall from my lips. They aren’t enough to explain who I want
to be. I am so flawed. He says, “Sometimes people have imperfections that are
worth living with. You’re a little eccentric. It’s part of your charm.” This man
knows me, and loves me anyway. He is crazier than I am.
Eight years might as well be a thousand where we’re concerned. History
precarious and I always fall. I laugh when I look up at him, grateful to be sitting
on the floor.
I write terrible poetry all the time for him. I’m stronger with a pen in my
now I have buckets to fill. Our roof is leaking, it’s so refreshing.
and moments yet to be.
In my mind you linger.
Hold my hand,
move with me in the flowers,
they grow, so beautiful,
like us, so fragile.
They bend in the breeze, I arch my back.
Can you feel me?
We connect in freedom,
surrender in love.
Come with me,
in this life, in this dream.
Whisper in the moonlight.
Scream in the dark.
Move in my rhythm.
Let me feel your music.