No mud

no lotus.

Looking at you

I see right

into your soul,

your humanness,

your things

that you wished

you hadn’t done.

And I love you.

I open my bad shit

cupboard and I

show you:

my weakness, my

stumble, my falling

off a cliff,

your hand strokes

my belly,

a part of me that you

love, nothing tightens, and

I keep talking.

This is us.

This is what it feels like

to

keep another person

in mind,

and to hold space for

another.

So how old were you

when

you met the love

of your life, 

you ask?

I stutter and your 

eyes crinkle:

it’s ok, I know the 

answer.

It’s 52.

The lotus

slowly lifts

her head, the

frost forgotten

as she basks

in the warmth

of this glorious 

sun.

~Lu