There are times when you feel as if you can touch his soul.
As if all the inky dark blueness of love will come pouring
out of you
and latch onto it: little hook, Velcro-like and carry it
home crying--
“You are mine, and I am yours and if you leave I could not
bear it.”
It is during those times when you stare at his soul-- and it
catches you staring--
that you feel the most safe and protected, secure and
valued.
But there is a bad part too.
That is the part where you could never lose that soul, no,
no, because--
it’d rip you apart and hurt like hell and that scares scares
scares you.
Scares you deep. Scares you hard.
How could something that feels like a part of your own ever
leave.
But it could.
And staring at the freckles on his cheeks you play connect
the dots—
wonder what the future promises in her purple realm of
reality.
But it’s such a pretty soul. Let me coddle it for awhile.
Sing it to soft sleep.
Wrap long arms around it.
Comfort it when trouble gnaws its corners.
Kiss it, take it, keep it safe.
Let it be mine. Please.
