Risen Rescuer

If we communicated like the moon and the ocean, maybe
we could wave our past goodbye and not be afraid to drown
in love (as if it were a bad thing). Perhaps we could learn to chart
our expectations with stars; would you find me easier to read?

Artificially we clung and I was done, but now, nature has crept
into my bones and I see that love can only be won-
by surrendering to what is real.

What is real? You? Me? It can't be easily seen, but I dream,
of a destiny where you are the mist that kisses my wind
burnt cheeks, and you don't sting. Not anymore.
Not like you use to.

You grew.

And tell me, now that you are everything I've waited for,
(subconsciously), how am I supposed to bypass you?
You are twenty dollars on the ground, a free coffee, a
lame metaphor that doesn't do justice to the truth.

If we could communicate, without peculiarity, without
observers writing this down as "strange behavior",
do you think you can be it? That kiss? Not passionate,
parting airways, but the one on my cheek? Erasing the
sting...of what you had done to me.