Molly Molntuss

I love how you let me speak until I'm almost done, making me hold the final and last thoughts in, stroking my forehead with your fingertips to hold them still and let the storm settle even when the flood reaches my eyes you don't back away.

When the room of rest consists of nothing but dirty laundry, unfolded papers books I haven't finished and food I didn't eat I can still have you, you're the cool of the forest when I've been walking the blistering sun of deserts.