you are the song i never want to end,
the quiet storm session on the way home,
alone. i drink to you in my room as i
two-step to Maze's 'Golden Time of Day'
(sway to Sade's 'Cherish the Day') lonliness
never felt so good until it came packaged
as a gift with thoughts of you within
a dream of my mind's eye.

you are the reason for rhythm, the blues
working a sweat upon the brow of the jukebox,
why fingertips dance themselves across the lips
of lovers in vertical kinetic foreplay--
orgasms echoing out of opened windows,
mimicking the crescent birth of the moon.

you are the mathematic equivalent of zero,
neither positive nor negative,
yet the root of all others, indivisible,
all-encompassing everything and nothing--
the limit approaching infinity, what one
reaches for even when he is not reaching.


***********************************


"(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands" -e.e.cummings



"If you pluck out the heart
To find what makes it move,
You'll halt the clock
That syncopates our love." -Sylvia Plath