Soul Pause

There's a familiarity here.
Rubbing my head, I recognize it, and it is a home away from home.

You're safe,
You're smooth, cool, ease.

In the pitch of fevered thoughts, you straighten a road that I travel
in slinging curves,
and my eyes see you in the middle of twists.
I can pull away, fall away, and 'hide beside you if only for a while.'

You hold up a cover of steady, pillared, firmness in the swirl of a winter's discontent.
You stand in the doorway of balance beckoning thither,
as through the screaming winds, beaten and scratched my feet slog forward in the sandstorm,
always toward some semblance, any notion of even-ness.

Spinning madly on heels of tumult and terpsichoran insanity,
with the ease of a wink you extend your arm and stop my motion, catching me into your arms . . .
steady and unyielding to the frenzy of tempest all around.

Hold my mind in its glass temperance.
If love for you were smoke in ashen woods,
I would be the lick of flames on the feet of the trees.

-G.



For Mi Querida Loba. 
Thank you for seeing me. 

Misha loves you, Baby . . .