Lame

My soul languished

once
and still does today,
but only out of habit

“Lame,”
I hear you say
and laugh

it was

it was

So lame

and still,
I learn to walk again
I learn to use my wings again

because,
however sarcastic,
however excessively romantic
you are there for me

again

and again

and again

my hope
my home
my love
my longing
my joy
my joviality

I am tired,
Beloved
Longed-for
Dancer of the Stars to Rights
Holder of the Balance
Weigher of the Right Relationship of Souls
 and even so,
exhausted

I laugh
and laugh

for you’re pulling faces
over kitchen clean up
after breakfast

distracting me with kisses
from my palm up the inside of my wrist
as you hum some bawdy tune
you learnt
in that pub
off the third node
of the 5^th dimensional branch
at the intersection of the 8^th twig and the main branch
of the World Tree
you visited last summer

-How many species
even CAN?-

I ask you,
breathless,
giggles bubbling up
unbidden;

half-lidded eyes
watching your progress

And also -
dishes.

“Alas!
My Empress holds the Whip!
And over my sorry existence
her reign is utter and supreme!
I go! I go!”

knock it off,
Silly Treasure,
Extravagant Delight,

let us walk
in the greenwood
as the sun rises and
contemplate the meanings
of the shadows of the leaves

“Or we could make love.”

We could.