I
haven’t seen you for some time, though you’ve been
all
around me everywhere, in the needle thin
alleys,
on Juliet balconies in spring –
not
in eggshell numbers, nor pixels nor a pin.
Flesh
smells and blood’s awkward outside a vein.
No
one knows why it stops. Nor exactly when.
We
only know it will. Without a question.
It
too will pass. Never come this way again.
I’ll
yank my senses free and come hold you close
and
breathe you in, the rankness of flesh and rose,
purple
orchid heart, the exhaust off the roads.
And
we’ll walk off someplace where no one goes.
I’ll
listen with my entire body to you,
the
peace of your quiet, velvet voice all day through.
