Home > Poetry > more than a stolen something

more than a stolen something

 

Today, summer is trying
to sneak in through the backdoor,
leaving beams of light
carelessly on my bedroom floor,
tossed like discarded clothes,
these hours stripped naked.

Summer is always full of mischief,
dangerous late nights
and blissful early mornings –
a phone call, a car ride,
a clandestine liaison –
nothing more than a stolen something.
Confession: those are the days
I look for, live for, and want to
curl up in, my heart is half-cat
and half-sunshine,
aloof until you realize
it isn’t – not really, and never
with you.

But this morning is full of memories,
late nights on the back porch, margaritas,
and mornings full of love
before coffee – hearts so full
of sky that I began to forget the ground,
because who needs earth in the face of heaven?

I want to know how you love
like the wind – slow and steady,
even when I can’t see you.
I want to know how you kiss
like a revolution made of kindness –
passion that banishes all fear.
Mostly, I want to know
a miracle made of apologies,
and what it feels like
to give you the word home.

Tell me all the ways you want me,
tell me how you’ve seen my smile
in passing branches, and in falling snow,
and in the leaves when they’ve
found a new place of belonging –
tell me,
and I’ll give you every season,
not just summer. Tell me why
your heart’s so fragile,
tell me why you learned to dig your
heels in, when you should run –
and why you run when you should stay.
Tell me why everything is backwards
and broken, like a half-remembered
dream – offer me one truth for every season.
Let’s start this summer.
Let’s begin with this
sunlight, right here and now.

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Categories: Poetry
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