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 

Once I was
bright eyed innocent 
and blindly hopeful 
masquerading as interested 
when in fact 
I was desperate 
for any semblance 
of the normal 
of which I
had become accustomed 
anyone would do 
for the who
was less important
than the what 
that was then 
this is now 
now that I 
have finally found 
my own what
I’m gladly on
to the who
that one man 
who finally can