Palm Trees

There’s hope in white wine
How it pours into  
Crystal cups swirling around
Like a gentle crisp hurricane
 
Waiting to be sipped
Washing away my insides
Stripping away my self doubt
With its bubbling tingles
 
As I sit on our front porch
With no make-up on Thanksgiving  
In 65 degree Florida weather
By our small Palm Trees  
 
With strung white lights  
A tradition started two years ago
Our young skyscraper trunks
That continue to grow
 
Symbolic with its  
Towering future of love  
Flexible in raging  
Storms and disagreements
 
That always seem to
Happen after midnight
Because it’s the law of love
To be addressed immediately
 
Waiting for morning
Is for wimps because
We love like hurricanes
At home with the rain
 
Still standing in the  
Aftermath of climate and
Tangled bed sheets
Because we bend
 
Like devotion
Like Palm Trees