Tuesday, 9 November 2010


How do I begin
to consider
what you see,
if you lay eyes, or breath,
or hands,
on me?

Surely, I can only
your words…and
know that you love
untamed world and say perhaps,
that you see a soul
that answers yours
without notion to call out harshly
and ever roughen a moment
that whispers to your heart such quiet
and golden nuggets of gentle song,
that you ask me to stay
ever longer, as the light slowly creeps from day,
and you ask me to smile for you and to lay down
in grass,
to follow you and share a glass of heaven,
or beauty, in wet air and dew…and I
can only suppose that maybe you see things
in me
that keep you near;

perhaps you hear a language
you understand
when you walk at my side or touch
my hand to your waiting lips;
perhaps you are only taking welcome
sips of my medicine that seems to cure…
either way you see my doors are always open,
fences down,
and I welcome you in to drown, like an addict
at the bar who throws off disguise,
willing to catch you whenever you fall,
like the stars I hold in my eyes.

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