If so, this earnestness requited be,
That as I move the mountains this, then that,
Your eyes, they turn to me,
To ignore the world for coffee cups,
For clumsy poetry,
And then, to listen closely,

Then consider this poet gone,
A word ahead from you,
A blank page behind,
To sweet, sudden silences—
A kiss, a dot, and are ellipses,

For when I love you,
Because you make me want to,
You wring the clothes of my heart,
The high sun is wet,
And I have nothing left to hide.*

© 2015 J.S.P.