Tin Lover

 

Some poems come out raw.
Some you carry for years before you find the right words.

This one lived in me a long time.

It’s about loving someone through the fog — through heaviness, through ache — and never letting go of the gold that still shines within.

This is Tin Lover.

My love, by wayside, beset by stars,
a space between to steal what’s ours.
Apart, for now, and out of reach,
across a space I’ll never breach -

for wanton promise of things to come
of turning weather and thunder’s thrum -

she’s wrapped in sheets of paper smocks
to weather storms and breaking rocks
to hide from words that cut and bleed
while stitching wounds with garden weeds

and raking dirt across her skin
she hides the gold that gleams within
and inside this gown, this coat of dust
she lets her veins carouse with rust.

Oh here afar across the twain
forced to watch her as she wanes
where lacing sun rays seldom trace
will rarely dance across her face -

within those moments
she may betray
the gold that lives
beneath the grey.

my dear tin lover, she fights this mold
struggles dearly to break its hold,
of stars beset upon her skin
infecting joy to rot within.

Oh how this span does seem our fate
 - It hopes to wither love with hate,
but we shall wait upon those sunlit seconds
to glimpse the gold that ever beckons,

and within those moments,
that space in time,
I’ll see your love,

And you’ll see mine.