My skyscraper

Your legs spread apart,
your metal body, an arch.
The strong lines of your spine,
the elegance of your neck,
your bend, so crafted,
your presence, a peak of
existance, towering above
my little town of night lights;
You are a lighthouse-
calling me back to you;
You are my skyscraper:
my adrenaline rise on this high height.

This is the ice you ride upon
and in the cool, January nights
it grew thick, and held us up,
thick like the fog that drowns the sailor
thick like the fog of sweaty, sensual sex
and I trusted it's fragile strength and
built you up,
daring to climb your rungs.
But as summer rises, shining a light on

what hid in winter blankets,

I feel a crack here, 

frozen water coming up for air.
Our foundation rocks
under this weight, this wait...
June is inevitable.

And each step I take throws this love
into one extreme or the other,
as our foundation sweats beneath this heat
and shifts in the winds,
teaching me that keeping it safe
means being stagnant and
holding on with my eyes closed tightly-
I must not move too swifty,
I must not climb too high,
I must not live in this love
too much, or too fully,
I must learn to swim as waters rise,
and I have to ask why it was you,
all this time, I stood, gaping at,
when our highs were only lows in disguise.

I've come to find my home
is my foundation
and the views are just as grand,
and not so dangerous.
My home leaves a light on

which burns past the storm.

This is the high I can hold on to
after the adrenaline has worn
and the sweat has dried
and the lighthouse has turned.
And I realize, I'm not sinking,
no, I'm not lost at all.