Poem: Love Story

attic beds_resize

Love Story

Coffee turned to hours, turned
to strange truths and
of laying our worst on the table
like a bad game of poker,
sure somehow each revelation
would send the other running.

Certain, but wrong,
as shyly, like a beaten child
we exposed our treasures,
our hopes, our childlike silliness
and fears of what lay under the bed, waiting
for that feral look,
that disappearing into the woods,
into the night
others had assured us would come.
Most certainly, would come.

But instead, we stayed,
our hands stretched across the small gap
between our broken lives,
barely touching, yet full, feeling
a new power, an old strength
returning, seeping scars
healing like a bad superhero movie,
but with music so divine
the angels wept.



One comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s