Storm

It’s a storm, this love,
And He’s the epicentre.
Roiling, twisting, beautifully destructive,
But safe.
He cannot be measured;
Such a sudden breath of fresh air.
There’s no mark scheme, no units, nothing for me to ponder,
It’s instinct.
This isn’t education, it’s creativity.
He has the power to sunder my world,
Turn it grey, blue and black,
But I never wonder
Exactly what it is that holds him in check.
Trust has flowered here,
A bond delicate and white in its purity.
With dusky wings it unfolds -
Curls tentatively around my heart.
It’s a rare blooming rose,
But it’s vines are thornless, painless.
My back is guarded,
My heart shielded from mortal blows.
Like the weather,
The rain as it beats against my window panes,
His presence comforts me.
As long as He is here, I am safe.