I need
not even ask you
where you are, what
you do. I would find
you
even then, in every
fall of a leaf, in
every slither of the
wind.
Your voice, for me,
scales mountains, mutes
oceans, draws me
back to you
stronger than
any echo has any
right to evoke, drives
me
into the siren-call
of your
remembered smile,
once cherished;
my heart spending,
expending
itself into becoming,
my soul delving
into a gasp seeking
memory
and a dream yet to give
birth.
I would keep
still, or sleep once more,
to recapture
the exact nuance of
that slumber, the precise
misalignment of a limb,
and then
only to hear
you, to frame your voice,
whispering or
screaming, as you
speak
the silliest word.
You utter
beauty into being;
mold, capture,
enshrine it in the bower
of your lips.
Released
thus, I have been
caught, and even
hurting
I would that you
yet whisper my name
sometime, if
post-coitally, by some
stranger’s ear;
for even dreaming,
I would never be
closer to
you
than with my last
breath.
ohh, this poem is so beautiful.