Maybe

Your colors are bleeding 
                   and I'm completely undone, here.
                         I want and I want.  More and more.
                   And I can't.
 But when you move this way, eurhythmic, I see something I didn't before.
The world stops,

 and now I'm
                                in a movie
where love is real,
                 so where can I go?
                                     I feel as though, in these moments, I've been here before, though I haven't.
Our bodies know each other and I don't talk
           this

way.
Maybe I could leave the fear behind this year.  Start with the belief you're teaching me.  Maybe  the girl I was
                    is coming out when I'm with you
 and you are new
but
then a friend of old.
   Enlivened in the flush of flesh,
            I will die.  How could I have missed this?  I'm waiting for the end but reveling in the gush of dawn.
I'm going down with you.  I am drowning in the constitution of your song, singing too.  Your words remind me of what I'm unaccustomed to and you're weaving a brand-
                    now story and I'm wearing it around my neck.
                                           I want to
 cheat
         the surface scrivening -
learn your longhand instead.
                                  See, I have this one eye
         that glazes,
but it's the one that apprehends.
         The angry facts glare, so I must consent
                and I'm alright till
       I touch your face where it's
                                                soft
and then
where it's not-
then I'm using terms like perfect and grouping words like fingers, tracing and beneath.  I'm recalling
                                                                                                               body moments
 like arms and the wide curve of your back and the juncture of belt loops tugged
                                                                        taunt my memory.
See?
 Racing, mind's ahead but heart is catching up
each time our hands lace like
                                         that.  When I'm content and still, I'm shocked.
                                                                                                     Stay and forever and please.  The wings of your whispers have found me out, collecting
tender twigs
of sentiment.  Carve from
            me
 a novel for the ages.


Imaginary Garden With Real Toads
Carry On Tuesday
The Music in It