love is a beautiful time for the heart's eyes  
to see years of hairy moons & sun's soul
heathen women giving head on a good day 
w/ hands & lips feeling he will grow in her hands  
at night when the life of children gently
in the warmth of the full, big loved fingertips
of poetry's sky hearing her skin's darkness
loving to be warm keep place w/ the gentle
stars deserving to dance as a woman w/ several
men whose breathe hurts her but she holds
the light of the green morning in her red hands
wanted for days of matter meant for the sea;
the quiet mine's softly pieced kisses of
her smell's blue waiting body healing
over the phone; worshiping coffee all year
during the white storm of her hips watching
the missing lovely mother's people in the sunlight
where her kisses are deep