“Nature”

I could never write a poem, not for her,

Sapphic love is something we’re taught not to spur,

Thus in my mind my intentions must blur,

Till it is not to she whom I refer,

But the bark of a tree, or of one who has fur,

It is all-consuming.

It’s the earth and the sky,

Her hands, no, tree roots, are what catch my eye,

The awe on all faces you, Nature, produce,

The enormity of it all makes me giddy, footloose, then it hits me-

Hit. Her, it.

This isn’t beautiful.

It’s more like a tsunami, hitting me with a force I cannot deny such sparkling waters,

I feel like a freak, father lock up your daughter,

Trapped in a hurricane,

Swear I don’t swing that way…

But cavernous holes begin to consume me.

They start in the place where I wish that she could be,

Warmth sentenced to my suppression, once numbed, is burning,

It burns me, not her, my love’s world keeps on turning.