I hope my life is never so desolate
that it lacks art or poetry;
that would be the only poverty
I would find intolerable.

I have yet to be kissed
in a manner
so passionate and incandescent
that it has yet to leave my lips,
never to be forgotten.

A place so permanent:
concrete, metal, glass,
immense and withstanding all.
Yet they come and go.

A place so permanent
for an action so fleeting.

That fence seemed to go on
forever.
With every trough and crest of the terrain,
the posts seem to trail off
into the stark black
nothingness of the night.
Suddenly, the flash of the headlights,
affirming its infinite presence.
Only three feet tall,
but countless miles of boundary.

With my fingertips,
I want to send the pulsing electricity
you give me
down and over
your sweet skin.
I want to be as deep
and permanent as the tattoos
I trace.

I wish you’d left a mark on my skin,
something to last for days,
something you can’t do.

I considered lying back in bed
with you.
So that if I never left
and we never parted,
we’d remain in the glowing bliss,
and you wouldn’t have disappeared again.

You make me want
to write a love poem
so good,
that I would be proud
to show it to you.