I opened the door
and there she was,
smiling as if the sun
had finally broken the clouds.
"I'm feeling love " I said,
she tilted her head,
feathering a question
that teased my pride:
"Why must a woman always cook?".
I smiled, the quiet smile
of a man who knows
irony is love's favorite trapdoor,
and answered:
"You feed the heart
that takes refuge in a woman
and never leaves her alive."
She laughed,
a sound like the air itself:
"A prisoner doesn't choose his cell.
You walked in and locked the door ,
don't pin the blame on me."
I closed the distance,
one step to launch my poem:
"I'm serving a life sentence,
but life inside your arms
is the gentlest sentence ever written."
She raised her hand,
and something had begun:
"If you are the captive,
I am the judge of love.
My words are never discussed
except by a kiss."
Right there into poetry,
I drew her in my mind
like a warrior riding
into a battle and whispered:
"And I dare you
to stay standing
when my hands touch yours
because touching you isn't fair play."
She laughed again,
a laugh that threw me
into her arms,
and the space between us dissolved.
Commentaires