Look at me with a
teacher’s stare through
glasses and I see you
want to teach me
but I want to teach you,
too, because I have withstood
more pain than I hope you will
never feel …

Your smile is cordial
but I know you crave the
arms of desire
and you want to learn
that fire does not have to
singe the soul
and one kiss could be
more valuable than
a million brigades of
Hannibal’s elephants …

I am polite, I look and listen,
but I want to take these beaten
hands and slide the
glasses off,
I want to see your eyes
remain open as I lean in
and gently kiss you,
whispering,
”Everything will be all right.”