She stands there, plastered before my eyes as I lift one hand to touch her skin lightly.
Looking, needing, silently.
Hair soaked, head heavy.
Moist discomfort, familiarizing—steady.
Tear ducting clouds, uncandid trembling of the now.
Sky shedding rivers, whys, wondering—how?
Splattering and lathering- translucent stain.
It’s obvious. It’s wet. It’s rain.
A gentle caress?
No, no… No—she remains motionless.
It’s cold. It’s cold.
God it’s cold.
Locking herself behind the open door,
She directs her attention to the mud-forming floor.
Optimistically and subtly seeking grace,
I lift the blindfolding strands of her hair away from her face.
Entreating an ample weighing gaze,
Discountingly, her glance shoves into drifted daze.
Why doesn’t she say anything?
A mere indication, a look, a sign of noticing?
Why does she keep me waiting here?
This far is furthering— by the very proximity of near.
Why can’t she at least make a hurtful sarcastic remark as she has so many times before?
How can I swim in the sea, when rejected by its shore?
Weather bending knee,
She does not see me.
But it is I, I who came!
Thus she, she is NOT to blame…
And so, I wait.
I wait for a word, a smile, some form of warmth to ease this chill.
I wait for anything to nurture the fading verve of my will.
Longing for, venerating her touch,
Needs are little, but still too much.
And it’s cold. It’s cold.
God its cold.
Finding faith before it comes undone,
I surrender and look towards the sun.
All of a sudden, a glimmer of light makes way in the sky!
She turns up, commencing a half smile and I begin to cry.
“You’re alive,” she says to me.
“I am now,” I reply.
Her eyes spread into perfectly round sapphire spheres.
I grabbed her hand, the warmth to dissolve my fears.
A tinkle of laughter unfolds from her crescent mouth—she is happy.
Liberated, potentiated, as though moon free from gravity.
Inhaling her scent I whisper,
“Your beauty makes me weak.”
Kissing my lips and wrapping herself in my arms, she says,
“Your love makes me free.”