love comes in like a hurricane
in the best way possible
with a thousand-watt smile
and the scent of old spice that
carries itself over to my home
and love
sings the best lullabies to lull me to sleep,
amidst the whirlpool he stirs inside me
because only he can calm the waves and
make it crash all at the same time
(which is to say
love is an enigma taken from the stars,
a blessing disguised in freckles
and tiny scars)
and love
is the awkward hand fumbling,
the silent static over the phone that has
spoken a thousand words
but
in his gentle warmth,
in his kindness and strength,
do i find myself swept in
his hurricane.
YOU ARE READING
Miscontrued Sentences
PoetryNo one can understand yourself better than you. But we can all relate to the feelings that are often miscontrued by media, language, and everything in between. This is my ode to poetry, to the sad, the lonely, to everyone, and to myself.
