crocus

I’d like to understand the methods

And schemes of a human’s

Myriad lacerations.

Maybe they’re cognizant,

And just like you

And just like me,

Conceal themselves in times of need.

Still, their differences

Give me vertigo and suddenly

I’m entirely off my feet…

Somehow, the homecoming

Of the easing sun

Brings their seductive wintering and I forget

Until the cold blankets my vision like moss,

It is indeed

These wounds that unravel me.

Accomplices; my means to a greater virtue,

Deviants; my failures to outlive my issues

Despite the dichotomy of the undertow

And the predictability of myself.

I could do as my mother tree:

Defer the confrontation of the debris

From what was done to and by me.

The victim complex is tired!

We must grow,

If not for each other, then for ourselves.

I feel a tugging at my ankles

Enticing me to stay static,

As my air shakes and my ground

Yearns for friction against my feet.

Your arms enwrap my waist

And your chest brings me heat.

Here we lie, subjects,

Examples of the sun it seems

And now I relapse on fear

Until I’m sick.

So as I find you,

Entangle with you,

Increasingly headfirst into the deep,

I fight the motion sickness.

There’s a worthwhile return, I believe.

To succumb to this would be a coward’s sabotage.

To succumb to you would be to free fall

From old weathers into Spring.

- M. Rose