Handle With Care (Poetry)

Buddhism

I was never taught the art of making love,

But if you come with me right now,

I will lead you up the steps of a Buddhist Monastery

We will build temples out of your rubble

Write haiku's from your wilted bones.

You'll have me, and a bowl.

And I promise, I promise you, it will be enough

I'll scrape the raindrops from your skin

So your gold never has to rust.

Your fractured wrists have bled more highways

Than the City has paved

I'll ride your veins to the kite strings they'll become.

You say, you feel like you are coming undone.

But I've never met a poem that wasn't meant to be a song

And you are my orchestra.

Play me a tune, because my body is see-through

When it comes to you.

I am your open book to peruse.

May you walk down the aisles of my heart, and find the spark 

You had doused with your grief.

My mother once told me, that there was an art to catastrophe

That somewhere amongst all the disaster there was beauty

To be found, and I found all the beauty

I could think of In the meaning of the world love.

And I think I love you, in the maybe-you're-more-than-just-a-friend-but-I'm-okay-if-that's-where-it-ends Kind of way.

because your wounds are not just highways T

hey are modeling clay,

And I am putty in your hands,

my question mark of a spine, makes it hard to hold myself together

But it makes me an excellent cuddling partner.

I can be the big spoon, to the smile of your back.

You can be the defibrillator to my heart attack.

I've never known a shock like the one I had.

When I woke up one morning and found myself wishing you into bed.

So that I could say "Good morning beautiful"

My body is your meditation mat, om mani padme hum

I've built statues in your honour, so that you will never forget your wonder

Because when it comes to life, the Buddhists got it right.

I don't need nothing more than you, and a bowl to fill myself up.

With you, having nothing, is more than enough.