March 2007

 untitled draft

I don't have much to give you.
I can only offer soft hands,
A patient tongue,
And ears that will never tire of your voice.

But I'm not deep,
Not complicated.
I am nothing more or less
That what you see
But I fear
You think I am hiding in plain sight.

I can't share with your any
Tales of adversity overcome
I cannot reciprocate your sacrifice of secrecy.
My closets are full of cobwebs
Not skeletons.

No, I don't have much to give you.
I don't think I have anything you need.
Go ahead,
Unwrap me down to bones;
I doubt you will find any stories worth telling.

I have had time to grow into my skin.
There is no evolution left in me.
But you, so like the caterpillar,
Still have yet to settle into
What you will become.

So, no
I cannot indulge you in a game of
"My Pain is Worse than Your Pain"
Because I know I cannot win.

Because you are fragile and precious
And I am already far too close
To being in love with you.

Because I know that the compulsion
To pull you into the tight cocoon
Of my tired arms
Will be too strong
For me to resist.

There, I will hold you close until
You emerge
Whole and unblemished,

And then you'll be gone.

I only hope you'll pause long enough
To whisper one last secret
To my broken heart.

I need to know
If the butterfly can remember
How it felt
Before it could fly.