The Beauty of Truth

I hear the rain outside my window—
pitterpatterpitterpatterpitterpatter—
glowing with the mandarin lamp that illuminates
the secrets of our touch and the whisper of our lashes.

I want to stay,
curled up in you for as long as I can.
I’m not foolish enough to wish for
a forever.
I know that forever has become a term,
thrown about by youth and young love.

I don’t want to own your heart—
it’s simply a beating muscle.
It’s full of power, and energy, and life and death.
Ventricles and chambers and blood.
But I don’t want to hold that in my hand.
I know it’s fragile.

I covet your brain,
gray matter and grooves and neurons firing
as you laugh and smile and breathe and kiss and touch.
I covet, yes. But I do not want it for myself.
It’s tangible, realistic.
Expected.

Your eyes are beautiful, yes, but
I don't need them to see for myself.
As we orbit, as the polar star,
I know we will reach our apex together.
Cyclical, pre-determined.
An act of God.

I’ve never been one to believe in all that isn’t seen,
until I met you.
Now I long for your soul, the only part of your body that you can’t willingly
hand to me.
It’s intangible, yes. It’s impractical. It’s fantastical.
I get that.

Can you imagine a love,
so potent?
So powerful?
So raw?
All it takes is one glimpse to know.

Yes, the heart and brain are practical. They are
reasons to live and reasons to love.
But the reason to exist, lies deep within your soul.
The one just out of my reach, buried somewhere between
your fear, and my regret.

I will extend this hand of hesitation,
the one shaky with memories of goodbyes,
and memories of broken promises.
You will extend your hand, the one
stiff with obligation,
or maybe it’s really just fear.

Can we meet in the middle? Buried under the comforter,
warm in a cocoon of comfort,
a sarcophagus of trust. It won’t stifle--
no.
It will protect.

Together we can find tomorrow,
a place always out of reach.
Together we can bury the past,
and together we can exist.