Shelter

   

Take me by the hand, and lead me amongst my scars:

touch every one

and it is reborn, a star at your fingertips, each fear,

all harm; nought but sweet air now,

in the safest of

arms, and feather-pillows,

deep, soul-cleansing

kiss –  and you can ask me never,

to live

without this, or the whispers

that all shimmer

and bend,

as it falls from your lips: “my twelve,

out of ten”,

and somewhere

inside me, spread wings, as doves soar,

behind all of the blinds,

and the skin,

and the tightly closed

door, on those predators, circling,

out there: because none of it matters with

your breath

on my hair,

and all of your fragrant

warmth,

at my back – here, there is nothing I

could want for, or lack in the depths of my soul:

- no panic,

 - no holes,

can exist

when you say what you see:

strong, brave, beautiful me, no damage,

inside or out:

nobody’s prey, no doubt

I have grown

like a Guelder Rose,

covered in thorns

from my head to my toes, but

bearing more petals than you ever

might know without equal wounds from the spikes – and I beg you now please

don’t

 turn off the lights,

for you make me

 more woman

than I’ve ever been – and I want to remember

all I have seen, tonight,  

in the truth of your eyes,

neither one of us

with need for disguises, nor pantomime masks;

for here lies the sacred moment,

we both

were shelter

at last.