Take Your Time–But Not Too Long

by M. Allshouse

Wilted roses—

a statue of neglect in my landscape.

Discarded petals.

The parts of me that needed tending to most.

I'm like the off-beat rhythm

of the tone-deaf drummer.

I'll be replaced in the end…

only after life tried desperately to fix me—

only to make it inevitably worse

and horrendously broken.

My mind is a barren plot,

frozen with winter frost.

The seeds are all there,

begging to bloom

despite the drought my psyche has gone through.

You are the tempestuous storm brewing above.

Over-soak my land that's been barren so long.

Unfruitful,

until you showed me what was wrong.

God, I love your song.

The rhythm is on beat

with what I’ve been scolded for.

Maybe that's just it—

I was playing to a tune I hadn't met yet.

Perfectly in sync,

like the universe had planned it.

But the second I fall into the comforting embrace—

the flow making me feel like, for once, I have clarity—

you…

you were silent.

Pulling away from me

like I’m something monstrous.

Did I embrace you too hard?

Cling a bit too much?

Maybe it’s when I thought I knew the words

to the song you were singing all along.

Like a lullaby my mom used to hum at night,

even though she was barely around.

You make that love feel so distant—

it's like trying to recall a dream

while still groggy with sleep.

Hazy and disjointed.

Maybe I was mistaken.

The future is a vision

I swear I already saw in person—

so real

I could have only lived it

to already miss it.

Like we've been married 40 years,

and we are reminiscing.

Take your time with me—

but not too long.

I'm prone to overthinking,

and I’ve been known to be a miscreant,

hopping the next train

as soon as you get too close…

then crying

that I have no place I can call home.