A place for slipping.

I disdain when I miss you,
because it's not when I should.
Supposed it to be--
in solace, lonely, dark-dim lime light.
This does happen.
But more--
more in warmth and fullness.
I am  light--
solid, strong, sublime--
but then you crawl through
and I am on my knees.
Mountain to child's pose.
I surrender.
I have to stay here--
low--
while you wash over.