His hair
like fur
my fingers
tangle it
like poorly
wound yarn
His back
like the state
of Wisconsin
is broad atop
narrow below.
His tie
like an obstacle
or hurdle
finally loosens
by my tugging
drawing him
near, knotted
silk, unwound
it’s a sash of
triumph
His lips
are my medal.
when we
kiss
your eyes
get lazy
like cats
or the sliver
of moon
when we
kiss
your lips
get moist
like sponges
or succulent
fruits or flowers
when at last we
kiss
you become
weak
like blossom
heavy
bouquets.
Poet
an
ancient woman
threading beads
on fine
linen threads.
Today
I sit
quietly
listening to
nothing
Today
I see
you
laughing at
something
Today
I feel
us
being
everything
I waited
an eternity
to finally
place
my hand
there
I waited
another
to move
to your
waiting lips
there
