You told me,
with your amber
lips and breathy
words that speak like
resin falling from a
tree, honey in
the mouth
of a
   bee-

with your tongue
afraid to
break the seal that
you've made to
cradle and nurse
your thoughts, your
language

You told me,
lying on my bed,
your head on my shoulder,
up too late for an
alarm-clock morning, your
eyes closed.

You told me that
all you want is to be
full of passion
and to know how to talk about
Fine Art with
me.