Pouring Heart

You walk back in,

Creeping in the middle of the night,

Holding on to me like you've never left,

And whispering sweet words like you never stopped,

And I let you,

Maybe because I need them,

Or maybe because I don't yet know,

What it means to have a lot more,

Than the bare minimum.

So, I pace myself,

And stop before I run,

Towards you with my arms open,

But, when I hear you take my name then,

I melt and smile wide against your skin.

Go slow,

My heart warns,

But it is itself pouring,

Everything without measuring an ounce.