be slow with me, I needn’t ask
you’ve carefully observed my heartbreak,
and instead offer your sincerity and not your arms.
my heart misses arms. misses close. misses love.
my heart wants those arms to cover me,
and reverse all the heartache that the last has caused,
but you already know that I am like New Orleans, five days after Katrina
drowning in murky water, all the while receiving freshly packaged bottled ones.
You do not want to be the bottled water, or the faulty levy that fails the next time around.
You want to be the steady where my heart feels unmoored by unsteady;
You want to be love all the way through, not a rose on a false reality;
You want to be in my corner, not a creator of webs;
You want me to remember that I am worthy and you are in awe.
I think I had forgotten the feel of receiving openness, and genuineness….perhaps in time I can trade my tears for the safety of your arms, your steadiness, your simpleness to work with where I am.