A Labyrinth

I always fall for the Samsonite man,
of arrogant wit,
and unbridled power.
A man who can wrestle a lion,
but as strong as he is,
can’t control his desire.

He wants what he wants,
and when he wants it he takes it,
or else avenges.
No iron gate can cage him,
his rage will upend it.

His love is blind,
and insanely jealous,
destroying himself,
his devotion so zealous.

His fire lit foxes,
alight every field,
havoc and wreckage is the crop that he yields.

Unruly and unrestrained,
he alienates friend and foe,
and I am doomed to be Delilah,
though I love him so,
because obliteration is the only way,
to stop his crushing earthquake soul.

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The milky mocha chocolate tinted puddles,
match my muddled muted skin.

Who am I?
Where am I from?
Where have I been?
How did I acquire the mask my murky soul rests in?

So many minorities,
nationalities,
forefathers,
fore-bearers,
rolled,
into one, pleasant face.

And yet,
you wouldn’t know,
there is not one trace,
of who I really am.
On the outside,
attempting to peer in,
my peers often confuse me,
for something else entirely.
Telling me,
their hypothesis,
for my ancestry.

So many letters in Caucasian,
and none of them spell me.
The caucuses are mountains,
no one in my line ever scaled.
Or, at least, not to my knowledge,
but its hard to know with my nomadic great grands,
who were not even really from where there were from,
those ever so distant historical fiction fairy tale lands.

But aren’t we all really just the same?
Flesh and bone flawed,
holes in our socks?

Nothing really makes sense,
so I guess I have to check that box.

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The quantity of my love is great,
greater than every raindrop,
that ever fell and kissed the earth,
causing growth,
giving birth,
to every smell of spring.

My love for you is sweet,
sweeter than every smell of spring.
including wet grass,
buds about to burst to bloom,
and ice cream melting down a cone,
beckoning the touch of a tongue.

My love for you is passionate,
more passionate than every lick,
that ever tasted life;
sensitive to your movements,
never fully satisfied,
always wanting,
but grateful to recieve.
You are the honey to my bee.

My love for you is loud,
louder than every bee,
in every hive,
buzzing in gospel harmony,
“hallejuyah, we are alive!”
Louder than every cicada,
louder than every mantus that prays,
in the broad daylight to be saved.

My love for you is bright,
brighter than every sunbeam,
that ever leapt into the atmosphere,
fearless against the inevitable freeze,
dying to give life,
perpetually rising like the Phoenix.

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