my hands smell like
lemons
today
because my throat was so
achingly d r y
that I
had to make
lemon stew.
[recipe, thanks to my mother who
I never got along with very well
but we seemed to coexist well-enough]
honey
boiled
with pure lemon juice.
hand-
squeezed.
now I sit silent with nothing
but the music flowing through the
room to soothe my
fearful heart
because
you know I fear nothing
[not lions, not tigers, not bears]
but I do fear
the possibility of falling
[deeper and deeper
beyond the surface of your eyes
and that frightens the hell out of me...
the mere idea of being a fool]
for you.
my lips taste like lemons today
but I'm not bitter.
I'm just a little
shaken
by the falling snow outside my window
screaming
uncertainty
beyond my curtains.
few things seem to be
constant,
to be undeniably true.
but the truth running through my head
today
is the bitterly sweet terror of
loving you.