It haunts this 
tenderness being now
quietly between us 
as deep sighs
and quickly caught 
breaths as afterthought 
afterwards this afternoon 
turning around looking 
spying and seeing 
that tiny glint 
and little glow 
of one little 
star shining there 
at the corner 
of your eye 

If my fingers 
could dance and 
not merely drum
upon you they
would from brow
down to toe 
taking you in 
all of you 
like a candlelit 
ballroom of sweeping 
moves and gaiety 
of cursive curves 
and simple strides 
until at last 
under mirrored light 
of the stars 
and blue moon 
they would rest
upon your lips 
and then there
mine would too

What caught my eye 
at glance was color
bronze like a medal 
or even Nicaraguan leaf
which has been draped 
and dried and rolled 
but what kept it 
was the exquisite detail 
by the creative hand 
of some old world 
craftsman the silky sides
and the effortless edges 
which seemed to move 
easily like summer winds
with nary a sound 
or a second thought 
oh and its weight 
that when placed upon 
created no new burden 
but rather released some 
a treasure to behold 
a jewel to keep 

I have fought 
enough battles I
just want to 
be the romantic 
poet and no
longer the warrior 
I deserve peace
having waged enough 
wars on behalf 
of others and 
now just want 
to forget all 
and maybe start 
making some memories 
that will not 
turn into nightmares 

Color me cinnamon 
eyes that bathe 
between tender lids
of burnished hickory 
and the cheeks
that rise and 
fall like the 
sea’s own swell
down the length 
of tawny throat 
and into the 
forest of chest 
until we reach 
the clearing of 
belly around which 
swirls the button
pulling me deeply 
in deeper still 
into its darkness