No woman had the patience for me,
as they knew I was starved and cold.
No blanket could warm me so well,
as your arm tucked beneath my soul.

I am absolved of your musing ways,
but I need your voice to calm my words.
I am the momentum of solitude,
with a roof blown off in ruins.

Your parachute is opened wide,
as you drop into my room.
Do not hide beneath your gown from me.
You are my guest—
and I am yours.

You were not needed to cut me there;
I became a man on my own.
Your hands do well to sooth my nerves,
but it is your neck that makes me move.

I am the patron of your company.
You are the tutor of my gentle core.
I am the sponsor of chivalry.
You are the acceptor of my word.

No woman like you has yearned for me,
not since the fall of the Berlin Wall.
No woman like you has knelt for me,
not since my nurse dropped me on the floor.

A baby cries—
but love is the patience to make me stop.
My heart, it bleeds,
but love is the bullet kept as a forget-me-not.

written on 11/21/2009 by: Matt Kane