(About a 1 minute read)
I recall now how the falling moonlight lit your face the night you confessed
You had suppressed for years the sharing of your most intimate emotions
With the ridiculous preacher man who’d once come knocking at your door
Clinging to his holy book to proselytize you while he wore a second-hand chicken outfit,
And whom you’d married out of pity once you discovered that his suit
Was his all-too-human idea of how to mask his shyness.
Then you said the stick figure drawings of my penis
That I’d painfully created over the years by ripping them from the deep reaches of my soul
And rendering them on museum-quality artist-grade papers
Had made your raw and honest emotions visible to you,
Made them concrete and tangible, so that you could touch them
Within the silence of a single moment I felt you enter into my pounding heart
Complete and whole, thorns and all, as my fated friend, my found muse,
Until I felt a sacred wind rising inside of me, love, like a driving storm.