Synastry: The Understanding

His soul is  
Like a most gentle sluice 
of lucid brook water 
to soothe your wounds.
Like the dewy rain drops 
that dribble into your arid throat 
like revival. 
Like the curious bluebird, 
forever remaining on the fence as he chirps 
his carefree melody. 
Then he stops to listen readily 
and share minimally.
A jolly idealist blurring the lines between 
fantastic and realistic,
the swiftest sweep away from conflict 
you nearly miss if you blink, 
he avoids it like the plague.
A fastidious artist working hastily,
while taking frequent pauses 
to daydream about 
the blue moon.
His head-in-the-clouds disposition 
is the most enamoring jigsaw 
it makes you question your 
disdain for puzzles.
He doesn't pray to a God,
but he practices people pleasing 
like a sacred religion.
They say there are plenty of fish in the sea,
but this one leapt up onto your burning shore
and you readily sprang toward the deep end 
of his hidden whirlpool.
But you must learn patience.
He'll keep you on his sparkling seafoam surface
as you wait to submerge yourself
into his cavernous depths.

Her soul is
Like a sprightly meteor gaining velocity as she
leaves you in dust.
Like an omniscient alien
who never cares to disguise
her extrinsic demeanor.
Another world brought to you through
electric green eyes,
Revealing a mass of kooky contradictions,
her oddity compels you to gravitate into
her space.
A bitingly blunt and accurate analyst
swirled around a hypnotically hypocritical
rotation of madness.
Her sins are written all over her body.
Still, she reads them aloud to you as she
beams with celestial pride,
shining more brilliant than a shooting star.
While remarkable,
her inordinate luminosity
often causes eye strain
and aching temples
for those who stare too long.
So she receives
surface-level appreciation
from many
but true acceptance
from few
because she's never fit in
to any crowd
the way she snuggly fit in
to your arms
like a sense of belonging
she's never known.
It's foreign and frightening.
Fight, flight or freeze?
Her face set in stone
while her mind is on ecstasy.
... flight. always.
She fabricates
a cynical game of hide and seek
to test your psychic abilities.
Somedays she longs to wrap herself up
in your warmth
to thaw the iceblock in her chest.
Somedays the heat of your exhalation alone
is too hot.
Enough to smother her cool air.
She levitates back to space.
Count to ten but
never chase her.
The only way to capture this spiritual being is to
let her go
because she is first and foremost,
a free woman.
And when she feels freedom,
she latches on to it.

A love story inspired by The Zodiaco Collection by feminist poet, Brooke Solis.

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