If I had that chance, I would keep giving you The best. 

Love making - hot tea served so dutifully, as I gently

steam each dream to wake you. Morning Molton Brown bath

with warm Christy towel to wrap around fervid hips after

I wash and caress every complex that doesn’t need cleansing.

 

When meeting your neuroses, I would heed the grumbles

chuntering a nonsense, that drive other people bonkers. 

Shouting my name from one part of the house to another 

makes a smile that would stay even after I found out that

you didn’t need me, but were just wondering where I was.

 

Speed loving tricksters, one car of two will be that Aston Martin.

Every journey taking an age as you divert to kiss me in every

lay-by on a wherever road. Cooking and baking mistakes

tasting just as good anyway. No celery or gerkins allowed.

I will scribe poetry you recite, shadowing light of imagination

that fleets collective spark of your transient personalities.

 

The cottage is a place where I idle half tempted to convert

if it meant devoted priesthood to my peat and dirt religion.

Simple food creates a famine road of our isolated existence. 

You like to proselytise a routine to me as you prepare the fire

while I contact the past through feeling each stone of the walls.

 

Archetypical two peas, no pod. Just passionate in a blanket.

Creating contrary, chemical lick of wilful substances, mercurial

Elixirs to fuck each others ills, secreted in an individuation. Sunday

afternoon playmates: giggling with grapes and bondage tape, 

even If we saw each other for every tactile twilight of the week.

 

there is a flood myth separating any island of instinct from land of

emotional reaction. Unconciously, we both guard against dreams

of memories but you and I are together everywhere. transformed,

I continue to give you the will to live and not just desire a destiny.

We are volatile apart, because I still have the best of you - with me.

 

* Carl Jung

 

 

© Katypoetess 2013