I Love This. Hope you Do Too.

What stops seeds of love from growing to their fullest?
some might sigh neglect
others would smirk indifference
I would add, without contempt
and without an axe to grind
what stops the seeds of love is
a frightened domestic hand

You're worthy, upright, always ready
to carry a person's load
but your sad red heart barely flickers
because its forgotten how
how to wet an appetite
and how to rock your world

Your reliable hand and homely style tether you
to a substitute
and your self restraint and impeccable honour
scarring your inarticulate heart
Correctness, correctness
makes shit of finer feelings


for, without a gallant tongue, willing to air words
like love and come and stay
all hope of lit-up tomorrows
lay dying
in the terrible tidy basement
of your dry spotless house

To watch Love seeds flourish
swelling thickly in your hold
you and I must dig
dig the earth of our complacency
burning the rituals of our norms
putting aside suffocating safety
Because
From the white washed cradle
to
the yellowed walls of old age
we get noticed
what we want
when we yell.