Saturday, April 24, 2010

Quick To Tears

If I look at you with exceeding tenderness
Forgive the intrusion on your privateness
I only try to see
Beyond the hair and the skin
To the roiling, gritty reality
Of you.

I am a green twig
Crushed by your careless passing.
In my darkness
The sap of that fresh wound glistens on my face
Then dries
In beads of longing and desire
Both primitive and present.

Beside you, I am beside myself
In driven waves
Of elation and guilt--
A newly sprouted branch
Moving gently in the thin, cool breath of Spring
Broken by the memory of your warm mouth on my neck,
Yet I am blameless in my intention.
I am sparkling--
And sometimes quick to tears.