My Love is a Thistle

My love is a thistle, tenacious and beautiful
Her mysteries forever unfolding, through prismatic personas
aspects of past traumas etched in her bones
My love was a soldier and a peacemaker
and a caretaker
And she’ll regale you with stories of far off lands
Music flows through her hands
which I know are strong enough
to stitch me together when I’m falling apart
My love is a lily, late blooming and delicate
fighting off old fears
recovering lost years from murky depths
After years of gaslighting
My love fights the fights that need fighting
for others less free
dancing in the kitchen
lips bitten (I’m smitten)
My love is never alone
and I want to be found in her eyes
A fusion of strong women
Some bold and innocent, with flashing green glances
and tempest tossed tresses
and dreams of sundresses
and sparkling tides
Others wickedly grinning
with eldritch power
Revelations drip like nectar
that I greedily sip
until my far-plucked heartstrings thrum
And I wonder what we’ll become
now that her thistle’s briars
have found their home
within my arms.