Love Poetry: Gaia

by deafmute
(Eagle, ID)

'I was sitting there studying, and all I could think of was you. All I could do was wonder, if I told you I could love you, if I said that, what would the sunset look like after? Would my arm be put from behind you to around you, and would the sea floor stop spreading for the second that I drew you in?

I was sitting there studying geology, and all that was in my head is how your eyes move me like landscapes, like tectonic plates and I want our boundaries to converge. I wanna crack up and crumble; straight-up make a mountain out of you. Wanna subduct down beneath your borders. And I’d melt in your mantle, candles blown way out by the force of the quake. Because this is the way I handle the ways I can’t cope with being a human sometimes. Mostly it’s erosion, and I put on my coat when I go outside but still stay mostly frozen; sometimes a coat’s not enough. Sometimes a girl in my head is what I need to feel warm.

But just like the granite spanning the length of the thing our feet stand on, I never meant to be to so intrusive. I didn’t mean as I aged to cool at my core, until I was stone-still and buried, scared to see the blue-eyed golden face of a pretty lady. And lately, that’s all I’ve been staring at, in my mind’s eye. I’ve been jumping into volcanoes and splashing up with the basalt, and at the median dividing the distance between your mouth and mine, there’s a glass veneer begging to be sliced open, and your gaze is like chipped obsidian.

So with a please as pretty as the glinting corners of a tight punched carbon collective, I implore you to smash up against me. Do what Mother Earth dictates, sheets of rock tangled at our feet, at the epicenter everything immaculate in shambles. Let that which is molten boil out of you, and make me warm again.

I am certain I could love you. As certain as the trembling aftershocks.'

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