Stop piling it on, he said in cloak of shallow insecurities in obvious attempt to find his own needle in her haystack

all the while the threat of a breakdown grew in her like wildfire in her belly holding back tears with a Cheshire grin

Hot and cold, he was

One moment loving and bare dancing naked in silvery headlights of a waning moon

Holding her close against the furnace of a body sheltering her from the crisp winter’s cool air

the next shuttering out her light with a wearing down worded just so and digging deep and salty in to wounds yet to heal

creating darkness for fear of blind faith and truth that she may die of broken heart and misgivings

Stop being so sensitive, he said while her nerves frayed like an old sailors rope tangled as she scrambled for a lifeline of empathy and compassion

Stop feeling so deeply, he implied as he slipped into the next room quietly

as if her fear of death towards doom really isn’t that big of a deal as he fluffed up the pillows

Calm down, he said

As the postdiggers bore their holes

Spitting out chunks of a wounded heart and reflections of wasted time

I’ll leave these promised treats here upon the woodpile forgotten to taunt you in your discovery, he implied, with promises of love burning within her while she whirled and spun in an emotional stew rare, raw and naked real getting closer to going home to god as a wounded goddess

As darkness consumed the light she scrambled for the resonant peace of mind she sought hoping he’d see clearly while he fell into slumber oblivious and angry at her fears and wounds that were clearly not his to judge