In the morning, I am flawed. I am a bone dry avenue. I am the time running out. I am the seaweed holding you at the bottom of the pool. I am twisted and dark and complicated. I am too much, yet never enough. I am a dirty plate that needs to be scrubbed and scrubbed but will never quite be clean. I am slippery and waiting for someone to fall in. I am the thing you forgot at home and the horrible moment you realize you left me. I am paper put in the trash. I am a never-ending "I'm sorry."
And then, she hits like a warm noon. She enters my bones and makes me shiver. She rattles out all the flavors I inherited from my father. She speaks words I cannot say. She runs quickly next to me. And bad habits melt away. And quirks are sanded down into the woodwork. She washes my hair, and I come down slowly. The credits scroll down my face and everything is calm.
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Poems About Her
RomanceSo, I met the person I'm spending the rest of my life with, and sometimes I write poems about her. They are simple, yet complex. I'm trying to decode the words that flow through her veins. (Yeah, I know that was corny. I'm not really sure what you w...
