Lm Rises With Relentless Passion

Eyes Squint as the sun rolls over the hills pulling Lm up and out of her       lengthy hibernation.
There is a grace around her,calmness is rewarded with a toast of familiar aromas between her and Rock. He has stood silent, never pushing her to write or paint for he knows she always will find her bearings after all these years as one. One woman, wound in threads of her past, always mending her wounds, sometimes unravelling and redoing her old patterns. She rips at the stitching she has worked so diligently on and then regrets her lack of believing in her self. 
Rock is not one to heal, he simply listens to her heartbeat, her dreams, and guards her memories with pride. He loves his protective role, yet desperatly longs for Lm to embrace him and allow their codependency to gain an impenetrable force of a love for life beyond the silences lingering between them.
Lm has indeed been writing on the walls in her stairwell, deeply hidden in her darkness she creates prose and poetry that brings heavy tears to those with a true understanding of the life she has lived, survivied and continues to embrace.
Rock pulls open a drawer where some of her writng is growing stale, longing to be shared with the world. "Go on" he insists, "Put it out there!" Lm feeling somewhat nervous takes the words she has written and takes to the keyboard of her laptop.
Poem? Prose? Lm sees no reason to give her words a title and let's it spill into print.
         
Like turmeric, pomegranate,and cumin, we fill the room with exotic spice.
Pungent scents of our newness exhale around our discovery, circling like a dancing nymph.
Ochre and cinnamon, brassy, hot, flesh soothed only by the midnight air.
Dainty, cool, silver falls upon our sturdy moon, a flash of our future, our beginnings. Desert orange, a flush of your cheeks.
An odd mixture of clay and clover, of cabbage and okra, we long to be the same.
We grope for the chance to blend.
We are an experiment, unlikely ingredients combined by chance.

Rock can't applaud but is pleased. His stoic face never gives way to emotion.
Dissociative still, yet hope will always be on each mornings horizon.