They say she is walking disaster, but to him all her broken pieces create a beautiful masterpiece.
My partner, my lover
He gets under my skin
And lights me from within
He is my sun
And his touch is for more than just fun
It has been that way since I turned twenty-one
And we shall burn bright until way past eighty-one.
Grandpa looked about a hundred and three with a face like old, discarded leather and a wiry white beard. But his voice was strong and his eyes wise and we loved when he told stories of Great Depression. Back when he and grandma’s pockets were empty, but their hearts overflowed with love and hope.
You are sometimes a dream, sometimes a nightmare
A reflection of perfection but also a master of disaster
What always remains, is that you are mine
And that is divine
We are given a choice. Live life, or wait around for death. I chose to dance with him, tempting him to take me. Let him decide if he wants my body or my soul. I’m too busy seducing life to care.
“I love you. I want to marry you.”
She waits for it. That stifling panic of drowning in someone else needs and desires. It doesn’t come. Instead, joy swirls and flows between them. She smiles, and dives into his heart, swimming in his love and years they’ll spend together.
He is the calm before the storm
She is the storm
Together they are a natural disaster
His fingers touched my cheek, and I turned from the purple and red sunset. “I have a secret,” he said.
“What is it?”
He leaned in and kissed me. Through the fireworks going off inside me, loud and beautiful, I heard him whisper, “I love you.”
Relax into me
Let me be your breathtaking dream
Your Island, your Sanctuary
Your companion, your lover
He smoothed the sharp edges of her heart
Reshaping her body with hands
Reshaping her mind with his words
Reshaping her organs with his love
She wasn’t merely letting him have her heart
He was bending and contorting himself,
Becoming her heart