In the dead silence of your contemplation
I find retreat
a lean-to that shelters me
from the tumbling rubble of fears
It is not safe harbor
but it is enough
sometimes a scowl
a loving glance
I quietly teeter
but stand unwavered
the rolling sea of your intent
rocking me to sleep
laying still under your words
letting them flick over me
like little flames
their weight
on my chest
tasting them with my own tongue
and breaking them down
the bitters and sweets
melding in a perfect symphony
of flavor
complimenting
comforting
All together thrilling
a slow
deliberate
methodical dance
memorizing the steps
to anticipate
to make myself move in time
the ways we entwine
and branch
choking out a garden of doubt
in the shade of our pulsating shadows
apprehensive approach
hasty retreat
scattering seeds
waiting for them to take to the earth
something
to eventually harvest.