in an attempt to tie up loose threads
after my lover had set herself to drift
on the cradling currents
of a slow inviting dream
I found myself at desk
tracing parchment kisses to her forehead
singing lullaby and morning back to me

I love
that you allow me
to treat you like a princess,
though not so delicately
as to encourage
a patronizing compromise

that I can be firm
feet planted, and you
together, locked in mutual struggle
inclined to burn brightly
for you and I, for each other

that all forgotten passages
are there; relit
or burned to their foundation’s
until nothing stands
that we had not built together

hands clasped, at arm’s length
heels close together, we spin
dependant on gravity to generate rotation,
glowing brilliantly, and
steadily more luminescent
a spark
set against the vacuum
of impossible night.

© Emerys Watchel, 2015 All rights reserved.


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