lover
mine
lover
mine…he is the thread
through
a needle’s eye…the preface
to a
book i can never put down…a
crudité
of pleasure ever sated upon
my
tongue…he is the rush of bated
breath…the
wind beneath my tattered
wing…the
prayer that brings me to
my
knees…he is theStradivarius to
my
rosin bow, with eyes of a cerulean
blue …he
is the lump in my throat that
beats
like the hooves of a thousand steeds…
the
hand that rests upon my thigh
on
long afternoons of driving north and
yielding
slow…the inventory of a stare,
he is…lover mine.