I
love how she
plays
over me like a
skinny
note on a piano.
I
love how the world ignores
my
glee and sorrow and
leaves
it up to me. I love
the
secrets she allows me to keep.
The
sunshine that massages my joy
&
the rain that rinses away
my
mistakes. I love her words.
The
unsureness of expression &
the
mysteries of response.
I
love how I can be disliked,
proving
I am here
kicking
up the dust.
I
love how she
doesn’t
keep noise
in
the air between. I love
I
can experience pain, proving
connection
and spent time.
Drives
and chats
taken
and told. I love
the
worn paths
&
used money & the youthfulness
confused
for immaturity
I
can’t get back
and
the lessons that comes with it.
I
love her.
I
love her down to her
incredible
resolve
&
frailty of the heart. I love
how
she demands feeling. The looks,
those
glances that persuade me to act.
I
love how she has
a
foggy piece,
one
solo and disjointed
jigsaw
to my naked portrait,
because
I know I am alive
to
dance across
her
beautiful wasteland.
