Tour de force

Your body is
a country

I have traveled far to come to.
Your own soul a

state of mind I sought in
silence.

Thirsting.

I composed the flitter
    of your kiss
before I knew its
taste, and in the arms of strangers, I was
warmed by the flame of your embrace.

I have traveled far to find you.
Long before your limbs began to

                                                        teach me,

my fingers traced imagined memory

                                                            of your face. 

I took the back roads, embalmed

in untouched dirt.  Journeyed years through
     untamed time. 

I stopped and lodged in sordid day,

fled from

tempt of night.  I read letters you
never sent to facilitate my

steps.  Caught substance of
                                                 falling

stars and used their flush to
                                      light the way. 

Nearing brink of
discontent, juggling all I’d lost

I strained to hear La Cle des Chants. 
I sought

   safety
housed within a strand

   of hope.

I marked your turns, counted lines
  of love,
sowed sonnets
in

                         the soil
                                 of a past
life’s grave, and
              arrived

uncivilized, into the setting
                          of your arms

the every
aspect of
your softness and now I plan

                               to know you.

 The Sunday Whirl