Diamonds Are Dust

When I feel like running into your arms and crying my eyes out
I wonder,
will you be there when I poor my heart out on this hard concrete?
She sniffs my clamped fists, full of angst and lies.
She wonders what hides in there; she’s searching for something.
Sometimes I do the very same thing.
She is my confidant.
She is my one and only rock.
Her big brown eyes and button black nose tell me everything will be OK.
The sun will still rise and set.
She will still be there to lick my wounds.
Literally.
She won’t judge; she doesn’t tell lies when all backs are turned.
The wrestling match we play won’t be with words
but with growling and gnarled teeth.
Her neck shines red of the identity she so carries so confidently.
She belongs to me, with me.

I beg to differ when you tell me that diamonds are my best friends.
They don’t really last forever.
I won’t carry then to the ends of the earth with me,
in a tiny tote that molds right into my side.
I will show her the world, because she is the light of mine.