First an instance from my lips
Then through nimble fingertips
A poem I write to sum it up
For you and me
Yes, I linger too.
Upon these keys
Words flow with ease
And I appease the torture that resides upon my brow.
This torture of which I speak
Not from a mouth weak nor torn
I relate to you, dear reader, the quest
From which I cannot wrest myself.
(If I could, these words you would not ingest)
This torture, to find that thread that lies
Behind my eyes of blue as yet untrue
That pulls my hand to yours and yours to mine in trust,
For I know you feel the tug
This quest that lies so near to my breast
Whence finally caressed
Illuminates the world with light
So bright that night would fear its turn at play.
This tug, this pull, this yearning for a tie
Not belittled by lengthy diatribe
Is the same, a name we dare not speak, lest we are spotted.
It is not revered to love without a goal.
To search and long for love
Just love, how childish, how low.
And yet,
We wait, you and I
And hope, you and I
For only this
A wisp, a kiss of lavender and orange
For lips that have bade their time in emptiness.
I lay upon your dry mouth a luscious kiss
Of truth no jury could dismiss.
It is mine to bestow, to deliver to you
Love, true love
My love, it is only that.
At last, I regress into the dress made of muslin
That hangs from my bones deeply blessed.
At last, I deliver true love
And pray you swallow
This hollow gift.
