Foreign

I wish I knew you even
Half as well as you know me.
Someone who says so little;
Your mouth holds tight to an infinite mind
That entices me, a chaos similar to my own,
But carefully reserved to emphasize
Your quiet perfection.

Every time I feel I’ve accomplished
Some significant translation of your soul,
You open the lips I find so much solace in
And rattle the ground beneath my feet.
The honesty with which you spill your
Words into my clumsy hands is
Unsettling at best, but you keep me
Struggling on my toes just long enough to
Crave the inevitable fall into the
Embrace I’ve learned to call my home.

You are
An impossible balance
Of pleasure
And suspense.