Love Story

Coffee turned to hours, turned
to strange truths and
confessions,
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.