She is like awaking to a rain storm...not thundering but rather the brushing of rain against a window, painting the house in the gray colors of a drizzle. A rhythmic sense, the way a squall builds...the pressure changes, the bit of stillness in the air...then the gradual pulse...the building of ingredients...wind, clouds, and the heavy bit of moisture that fills in the clouds and begs for release.
She is like a puffy-eyed awakening...an over-sleep, when the color in the room is brighter than it should be, the day has gotten away from you, but there is no remorse of the extra hours or minutes that you lingered in bed...scant dreams, barely remembered, just the warmth of covers and unruly hair...an awakening and you are hungry.
She is the butterfly amongst the flowers, the rainbow after rain.
The greenlight just as you approach an intersection.
The salted caramel on the tongue, the bit of chocolate on the angel-food cake.
The IV drip.
She spackles my life, covering my holes, smoothing me in uneven patches.
She sits in an easy-chair in my mind, subtly rocking, subtly moving and stays empty-church quiet until a bit of me gets a splinter and she extracts it and kisses the wound and I barely notice...until she needs to do it again and then it becomes a pattern and she begins to become more than a want...she becomes a need and I awaken to a thought of her...and then I think of her as my day begins and I am soothed.
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