We steal our hours away like children
Scraping up minutes and moments
At the bottom of wishing wells.
You are the blood thump of my heart,
The heat of me when I am at my most fierce
In bed, or in battle.
When your slow hands traverse
The wide expanse of my flesh, I am remade
Into beautiful, peaceful, subordinate lust.
I am comfortable in your eyes,
The way you look at me, catalog me, suits me
And my primacy just right.
The time comes slow and leaves fast,
Too soon you are called away from my bed
Where I remain, hot and calling your name.

Being in love with you again is like coming home
And finding you again, is finding my better self,
I thought I had lost you, I thought I had lost us,
You are my waking and my dreaming and
All the restless steps I take during the day.

i think i am, perhaps, poison in bloom:
a colorful outpouring of natural attraction, and a heart
dense with toxicity.

i worry that your hands, in grazing over me,
in their beautiful meanderings over my skin,
will wither.

in the early days i could have tried harder,
done better, put myself right again, met the standards
i am supposed to meet.

but i am tired, aching and disconsolate, a gull
keening over the expanse of the lake, waiting for
the wider ocean.

the heart of a bird is flighty, lithe, but pure:
on straight pinions i wheel towards you now,
purged.