stoically he stands –
recklessly she flies –
seeking to tempt him,
she soars, dives & spins
hovering over his granite facade,
she sees he falls not for her
to find he is warm, solid, & sure
I wrote this a couple of years ago when thinking about how we met in ’75. I was enjoying the spoils of my emotional freedom. I was footloose and not about to be tamed. He was quite the stoic young man. Young and old at the same time. No longer willing to be moved (good or bad) by life or those around him. I’m so glad I landed to look behind the armor.
I was in need of a rock. He was in need of a devoted butterfly.