So beautiful how the right words can capture the quiet yearnings of one’s soul.
To be the doorstep you stumble home drunk to,
and to hold you, all sharp edges and bad behavior,
and let you know
that the architecture of your shoulders
leaves me in awe of creation;
that your violence betrays your fear of
scuffling with silence;
that there are places you can run to
other than away.
Yet you insist on stumbling along,
footsteps relentless and ungainly,
aimlessly turning doorknobs to see
which strangers have room for your strangeness.
I leave my door unlocked.