Gentle love
Delicate touch
Simple ways
Slow pace
In a soulful daze
Steady, patient
Fearless
Unashamed
Genuine feelings
Effortless taste
Desires that carry
Outpouring
Infinite
Deep affection
Yearning
He’s my strength
He’s my weakness
He’s my addiction
He makes me a dreamer
A fervent dream chaser
Speaking my mind, my heart
I describe, demonstrate
Words, phrases, gestures
I just say it all, unafraid
He reads, listens to me
Unconditionally
He’s been so patient
I pray to do the same
To be his strength
To be his weakness
His muse, inspiration
A warm embrace
To listen, be there for him
To empathize, reassure him
My love, my attention
My care, my devotion
Without walls, barriers
Without conditions
He responds, just enough
Always leaving me wanting more
He does that to me, every time
Guiding every conversation
Every connection, unfiltered
I love him and all of his phases
Hysterical and serious behaviors
Charming and rough, rugged
So masculine, protector
Overcomer, provider, just
You’d like to believe it, trust it
There’s no one else like that
Like him? In my heart?
My heart isn’t vacant
He claimed it, imprinted
Reserved, no longer taking reservations
About the Creator
Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson4 days ago in Fiction
Comments
Test is not accepting comments at the moment
Want to show your support? Send them a one-off tip.