"Plunge me deep," she said "to Soul's Depth;
crash through Depression's Walls

make me feel what's missing;
teeter my totter--
press Excitement's Lever--
such that I can shout
I am alive
by fright,
lust,
fear
or terror;
better to be with these
than the too thick void
aligned with indifference.

Unable as I am to crash my own walls
you know how to crumble them
for long moments at a time;
and I welcome this and offer too
as well, my ambivalence;
for within this

is the tension of all my
fears and tremblings;
which sometimes I dread
may morph into Stockholm syndrome
and sultry,
smoldering, fiery
resentments;
slow lingerings,
life-long competings;
small bickerings
which give us the souffle
which make up our complex life
and relationship.

Such a cake we bake
I know in the end
is made from only measured excitements
and those containments I make against
that which
even as allowed
cannot conceal my grief
against
tender
Control's Loss;

leaving me always
with the cravings
of next time's
admixture
and alchemy.

Against Depression
is proffered
only Strained Surrender
aligned with need;
when the two meet
in the Soul's Depths
we'll find and always have found

only trembing Love

partial,

not Total;

nor Complete.

Yet who among us
can pick and choose
Love's Needs?