Mount Vesuvius, Venus.
I once knew a woman who was sun
rise and all heated east and briny mist and
trenchant creamy crests and subtle depths
and this woman, lit from within,
created a cauldron between us
with core character steaming
changing, magma porous, litmus
test
and I love her and I hate her and
I love her and I do not like her
and I miss her,
and you can be a listening man and a
venting man and a vulnerable man and
an on point repeating man,
and walk away from her recurring timed bombed
barbed wire danger and still want her hair trigger
explosions to mix with her volcanic wild fluids
her white hot flowing steaming heat
with no hesitations, walls or separations.
Because love is never
so tepidly stale nor stagnant,
nor ever so cut and dried and set
as rocked solid.
