Easy

It's a word 
and you're a man
of intentional speech
words
carefully crafted
thoughtfully delivered.

"I love you,"

eyes burrowed into
my own.

"I love you, too."

I am a woman
who uses words
emotionally
lightly.

With you
I take a breath
my mind slows
I seek intentionality.

I look to
the source of my heart's
peace
I reflect.
I decide what I've chosen.

I will love you
when you are free
while you are
choosing time
for yourself.

When you seek
space
When you need silence.

I won't simply
love you
when it’s easy.

I will love you
when there's
distance.
When I
lose sight of
us and only
see me.

I will
love you
when you’re
reading the news
or watching YouTube videos
or working too hard.

I chose to love you.
And I will love you
freely.

I will love you
at your
freest.

Sand

I arrive at the 
front door of a house
that holds
the dynamics
of family 
as pervasive
and as deep
as a bloodline. 

At the doorstep I
witness the
lines of 
victim-hood
blended with
the incessant
need to be right.

In the doorway
I take a breath
in anticipation.

I notice the sand
that's been carried in on
the feet of
my beloved
family members.

I don't want to feel
the sand
on the bottoms of my own
or on the seat of my chair
or the floor of the shower.

I wonder
about the
rifts 20 years
in the making 
and what they've
done to the floors
of this home.

They seem as
ubiquitous
and invisible
until felt
as the sand that
found its way
into the
fabrics
of this family.

The floors take the brunt of it
scratched and rubbed down
until layers of coating
are exposed raw
until the foundation of this
home cannot
hold the weight
of what we bring to it.

At the doorway
I look inside.
I see my mom and
her sister sitting
at the kitchen table.

I wonder what it is
I do not know
about the sand
between their own toes
particles they may not even
feel anymore
since its become
ingrained
into the way things are.

I don't want to feel
the sand
on the bottoms of my feet
or on the seat of my chair
or the floor of the shower.

Sand belongs on the
shoreline
where the ocean can
do with it
as she pleases.

Here, the sand
clogs and scratches
it irritates and hollows.

I take another breath
remove my shoes.
I wash my feet of the
abrasive
and the stubborn.

I take care not to step
in the sand
my family
carries in.

Rising

Eye contact
the intimacy involved
in a gaze
that does not look away
even when my own
breaks
from the vulnerability of it.

Falling for him isn't
falling at all.
It's a form of rising
into something
greater than myself.

Rising into
a choice
of selecting
healthy thoughts
to believe
over maladaptive
pervasive
patterns of painful ones.

My body opens for him
and not simply to please
but to be pleasured in return.

He told me in some ways
it feels like I'm
a part of him.

He is steady
secure
he is calming.

I like the idea
of my own self
being a part
of him.
And he of my own.

Falling for him
isn't falling at all.
I don't feel a need
to be caught.
I feel the impulse
to rise.

contingent

There are some people
that offer their kindness
only when they believe
I belong to them
or owe them
in some way.

When it is revealed
that I belong to myself
that my own kindness
was not contingent on
attraction

their own
is rescinded.

the moon meets the sun

i've tasted 
fire and ice

neither
fully satisfied.

i taste you

a combination
of heat
and cold

of floral
and earth

and i want it
again
and again.

You are a balance
an in between
i didn't know
i could experience.

I waited for the moonrise
and you showed me worth
in holding out
for the sun.