Image: HAMED MASOUMI under cc
When I wake beside her in the morn
Or even mid sleep on summer nights
There is an immense calm
Smiling over my lips,
A twinkle from the proud tear in my eye,
This is how she makes me feel.
When the first yawn has broken
And I sit across her, cup in hand,
Each sip of tea feels like
I’ve of opiate drunk, swooning,
Yet alive, like charge she flows through me,
This is how she makes me feel.
When the day drowns me in work
And all efforts yield quicksand ends,
I call out to her, with eyes shut
And let her voice soothe my rage,
Returning like Hector upon the day,
This is how she makes me feel.
When I return home, wading
Through a sea of red taillights
Tossing and turning in turmoil,
My home is my lighthouse,
And she, my towering beacon,
This is how she makes me feel.
.
.
.
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Poetry and Prose 