By Heather Leigh Miles

You spend your whole life waiting
for someone to crack open your heart
like a safe
for someone to care enough about what’s inside
to break in
for someone to need it
to read it
like a favorite book
cherishing intimate lines
weeping for the death of the heroine.
You want to feel what’s inside come rushing out
sweet fragrant milk from a coconut
water pouring frantically from full gutters
spitting down the drain spout
you want to feel
your cup run over
to feel alive and open
in the company of a rain soaked lover.
You do not want someone to come and sit
in your innermost room
needing just to be inside
to hide
from falling rain
wanting only your warmth
uncurious about the safe of your heart
or its contents
to rest by your fire
with a book of their own choosing
waiting out the storm.