Our Tenderness Poem by Frank Bana

Put aside all the springtimes of Paris and Rome
There are none of your secrets you need to confess
Lock your dangerous dreams in the closets at home
All I'm wanting about you is your tenderness.

I don't measure the weight of commitments in gold
My fingers are not wearing your promises
No flesh of my heart can be purchased or sold
All I'm offering to you grows with tenderness.

I have no master plan for all you might expect
There is no art of love designed under duress
Show me maps of your islands I need to protect
With my arms of defence, weapons of tenderness.

Now if I must disrobe every truth of the word
And if you demonstrate just what works for you best
I'll insist upon nothing, whatever you've heard
Only bargaining with you for your tenderness.

So return those Millennium dreams to the store
And hold over your masks, we can play fancy-dress
Draw your hand down the lights, throw the rug on the floor
We'll explore all the borders of our tenderness.



Saint Valentine's Day,2008