Nesting

She is the tide

To every wave of happy that has been assigned to him by the sun,

God must have known that he’d try to make home of his flowering shadows

So she is fluid

A yielding body of water, reconstructing herself to fit every form his life takes .. she takes no offense to pressure..

She lies face down on her stomach and forms an arch sturdy enough to catch him

He keeps falling..  but she is an anchor, the restraint that outlines his limits

He has no concept of boundary and she doesn’t want him wasting away at sea, he has a history of drowning

And she is predisposed to broken so saving him makes her feel whole

She is more woman when he is less man I suppose..

So they just keep digging

Ripping into each others soil until all that is left is barren and welted hands..  

They are still empty

She has become his resting place

But no one warned her of the pain that follows the nesting of a seed

In a home unequipped to foster