dear e.e.

to the conversation
(the mild many surrenderings
you
so easily unraveling
make flutter, like swift
and just dissolving rivers
but only my guises
the many dresses,
against all trespasses
I have layered
many overcoats,
but I, for this
one glance, just fingers
just clothes, for wanting
my one chance
up against that lightning
the electrical storm
you buckle around you)
I
will never say out loud;
you from the beginning
have heard
my voice, acoustic
and light in your head.