Between the hands, between the brows,
    Between the lips of Love-Lily,
A spirit is born whose birth endows
    My blood with fire to burn through me;
Who breathes upon my gazing eyes,
    Who laughs and murmurs in mine ear,
At whose least touch my colour flies,
    And whom my life grows faint to hear.

Within the voice, within the heart,
    Within the mind of Love-Lily,
A spirit is born who lifts apart
    His tremulous wings and looks at me;
Who on my mouth his finger lays,
    And shows, while whispering lutes confer,
That Eden of Love’s watered ways
    Whose winds and spirits worship her.

Brows, hands, and lips, heart, mind, and voice,
    Kisses and words of Love-Lily,—
Oh! bid me with your joy rejoice
    Till riotous longing rest in me!
Ah! let not hope be still distraught,
    But find in her its gracious goal,
Whose speech Truth knows not from her thought
    Nor Love her body from her soul.

I am an outreached palm
and a blank page,
waiting to be written.
I have offered you pens
and my pages,
and even my heart
mixed in with a plate
of your grandmothers homemade cookies.
I have even cut off my back
to keep me from turning on you,
and my heart may be the old motel
your mother warned you
to stay away from,
but the second it saw you
i knew to turn on the lights and
fold the sheets to make room
for someone new,
and i apologize for these sheets
have frayed and the shutters
might creak in the storms,
but i have bid you my all
in a risky gamble of love
and i will continue to do so
in hopes that i might win a place
in your heart,
like you have
in mine