There's a secluded thunder in your eyes,
my love, a suppressed resistance
to the order of all things, a threat to light
the matchstick of a Word
thrown like a dagger at this heart
bristling terrified in my throat and chest,
because you can be predicted
only insofar as I myself am predictable,
aligned, repentant. What if I stray
too far from the beaten Path, and howl?
What then would you say to me?
Would I see a fork
of lightning flash, and slash me
down in an instant, and the wicked clouds
groan out their approval at my death?
or, rather, the weeping of Light
out of a darkened Sky,
the liquid conundrum
of our hatred for each other,
fostered like a child,
but long ago we were divorced
from true reunion, and the possibility
of it ever being resurrected, well,
that is between us now,
so what do you say?
Can the fire be beaten
to death, but still retained
for its use for us, useful
for warmth and trust?
Can the sword be sharpened and readied
without my having to fear
for my very life to end
in my sleep, when you are awake
downstairs, and brooding
on the presence in our hearts.
We are somehow the same, my love,
but all the while I love you,
I swear so many oaths to cut you down,
we should be hung
and holding hands beneath the Stars,
and though we cannot see them, nay,
I do believe they'll come with Time,
when the Sky is finally flushed and cleared away,
and the ominous reminders of our lives
be utterly ignored, lost
out of our sight, out
of our minds.
after Letting You In