I’ve been accused of this.

All woman, emotions flailing,

Body humming along –

Waves thundering to shore,

Grounding themselves

on something solid, like you.

Where do we meet?

You, so controlled and even,

like rows of perfect teeth

or corn planted sideways

along the linear highway.

I’m like the chaff

blowing from the winter wheat,

scattered everywhere

and nowhere in particular –

Sifting down between your

perfect rows,

settling into your gums

like rye seeds caught between molars,

providing texture and yes,

a small irritation, which,

given time,

floats free

to become useful,

once ingested.

~ BJ