The Woman In Her, But the Woman In Me

I look at her and I see what I could be Surely, she looks at me and she sees what she could be But when I look at her There is innocence to that preserved beauty; purity And she has softness to her; a delicacy There is no weight to her walk; lightness I am grounded The ground knows my stomp; it is heavy when I walk I step underneath the floor Movement on quick feet that only know logic and drill Its movement between weightless balance and momentum There is no delicacy to me I am strong with an earned ruggedness I am no harp player I hear drums: bhum…bhum…bhum; I listen for horns in the distance For her, there is stillness in her breathing For me, my heartbeats on my eardrums She has seen rose petals in the hands of a lover at her door But I have only seen rose petals above graves And I cannot have it all