Free Range Poet

 

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Spills

I try to handle you so carefully

So as not to spill a drop

Still occasionally some of you

Makes its way away

And loveliness grows

And complexity is born

As the beauty and scent of the rose

And the reality of the thorn

I find myself crossed at wits

Gleaning frustration at common sense

Because it is too common

To gain my own association

Drawing measure as to whether

They are indeed wits at all

Or just wits in absence of my station

So if I hold you not so tight

Don’t think it is because I do not want to

I just sense that spills give back so much more

Of what I love about you

‘Spills’ is number 69 in my first book of poems titled ‘Rain forest'.

 

Sometimes love nudges our concern for each other, to the point of perceived restraint. Each of us needs room to grow, to preserve the magic you were attracted to in the first place.

 

For an amazing relationship, let careful go just a little bit.

 

Free Range Poet