I pore over the pages
Slowly - very slowly -
Savoring the taste of the words in my mouth.
Not a proper pillow
For a head,
A thing to separate
I left my tears where they’d
Fallen on the kitchen table
Where I’d sat writing to you.
I take my pen
And outline each of the stains
My tears left on the paper
Bound in lace,
Nothing to offer
But that destined to
When childish hands made me stand,
I gloried in the sun and surrounding laughter;
Never knowing that, as both would fade,
I’d look longingly out to the sea.
Through earthbound dreams her feet have traveled;
Along the planet’s surface, forced to crawl;
Or to struggle against the water or sink under it...
Until tonight, this different night,
The day ran
Like a bottle of
Fine, rare, red wine
Poured into my hands.
You are some lush Italian vineyard
Into which I have stolen,
So juicy, glistening, swollen ripe
That I can not resist