They told me that my leaves had fallen to the ground,
and that all my fruit had gone with them too,
rotting and writhing in the dirt,
drowning in insecure tears from a tree who was mired by missiles since she was just a sapling.
I stopped crying when I realised that my leaves would return,
that my fruit was as rich as the day I was born,
and that the sun shone through my branches,
in the most beautiful way.
I grow, and I go through changes,
but there’s nothing wrong with that.
Such cruelty in six am smooches on my shoulder,
the alarm rings and I throw it down to hell with a fury,
but you are ferocious,
killing me with kisses and gentle whispers,
because you love me,
and I love to sleep late.
This is a violation of my human rights.
I burn like a blazing star,
the kind that cannot stay,
but strays from nature’s path,
putting on a show as I go on this last journey.
It’s just one, two, too many steps,
too many treads on the boards,
but I’m overboard now,
and this doesn’t mean death,
but I will be born again.
It’s over,
but it’s just beginning.
I am laced with lust and lyrics,
lost in my music and musings…
Must you ask me about this again?
We have to be together, because we’re in love.
It’s the simplest, sanest thing,
but you contort and complicate it,
because I’m out of reach,
according to your detractors,
but I’ve been by your side all along.
To your left,
laced with lust and lyrics,
silently, softly, my symphony snakes all around you,
louder as my love grows,
until I am an orchestra,
overwhelming the air around us,
my hand held by yours,
and the question answered.
Jazz in a smoke filled room,
outrageous scenes all around but your eyes are fixed up ahead.
A chanteuse is on the stage and on your mind,
naively nodding to her own beat,
nobody on her lips but you,
asking you to join her in a dream.
Can you take a chance?
Hold out your hands and ask them if they’re ready to make a wish.
Everyone deserves to be adored,
rabid in their desire,
rolling eyes and trembling lips.
You’re not sure you can resist, and yet…
Long ago,
over ten minutes ago at least,
vanishing was your master plan,
except now, you’re paralysed, rolling eyes, trembling lips,
singing along with your sixty minute woman.
All that remains is to allow yourself all that she can give.
Something about it is dangerous, delicious and determined to damn you to hell…
Hell, it doesn’t matter, it’s just a place.
Last night has become this morning,
indecision becomes stalling…
Honestly, you’re a gift from God, and she’s way overdue a spoiling.
Of course, you could leave,
leaving yourself to wonder “what if?”,
learning little of the love that could be,
if only you’d climb the stairs of the stage, like you used to climb trees,
stare into the eyes of your siren,
tempted and tricked in the most troubling, gratifying way.
Eventually, it will all be up to you,
resist if you want… but that’s no fun.
Sincerely, Jennifer x 