Nothing But Roses

He had callused fingers three inches deep into my hair, holding on like “Rapunzel, Rapunzel,” and I listened to him cry. His body creaked with a hurricane of sobs, and he just held on to our hug.

He said, “I’ve never cried in front of anyone before,” and I believed him. His eyes looked at me like squished grapes and his nose sniffled like a leaky faucet, and I cradled the eye of the storm. 

Our next date, he held his arms behind his back. I said, “What do you have there?” 

He presented them to me and replied, “Nothing but roses.” 

He had constellation freckles across his face, and I couldn’t help but touch every one even though I prefer the moon to the stars. His supernova eyes reached out in green shades of love, so I wrapped my little hands around the rose thorns.  

I had splinters for three months until I left him. He cried again, but with thorns in my palms, I could do nothing to comfort him. 

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An Assault on Spirituality 

Storm:

I hesitated to breathe. At an elevation of 14,336 feet, the view conquered every stone. On a mountain the very color of thunderstorms, I let the glory of it all ransack my being. 

The sunrise drenched me in beams. 

       The wind pushed me to my knees
                 where the pebbles                                                      pitter-pattered at my feet. 

       There was no rain because there was                                     no tempest. 

…but from that silver mountain, you’d never know the difference between the Spirit and a storm…

God himself said the land and skies were good; but He himself said that the people were very good. 

(to be greater than a sunrise, grander than a mountain) I am a blizzard to behold. 

                        ~La Plata 2016~