I Don't want the Practiced
                 Love Confession
                          Of A Seducer,
I want the Rough, imperfect
                  Heartfelt Statement of Truth
                          Of A Man In Love!

PASS ME NOT
HEAR MY HUMBLE CRY
HEAL MY WOUNDED HEART
DO NOT PASS ME BY

MY HEARTS BROKEN IN TWO
AND FALLS THE SILENT TEARS
SAVE ME WITH THY LOVING GRACE
FORGIVE MY SINS ALL THESE YEARS!

PLEASE LORD PASS ME NOT!

1637

Is it too late to touch you, Dear?
We this moment knew—
Love Marine and Love terrene—
Love celestial too—

I can feel it down to my knees.
It terrifies me to fidgets.  
Not like that serial-killer-
chasing-my-pure-as-the-wind-driven-snow-***-
aroun­d-some-secluded-farmhouse-
in-the-middle-of-the-night-
when-I-hav­e-the-least-possible-chance-of-survival
kind of “terrify.”

I compare this kind of “terrify” to
the first time I set eyes on the Atlantic.
A hushed minute—
my eyes straining to see the end
of that blue on blue horizon.
And I’m
so filled with wonderment
at the thought of such a treacherous beauty—
I think, without question,
the idea of it all will surely swallow me whole.

Truth is
I'd jump right down that throat
without a single hesitation
if I knew the feeling would stick.
Truth is
I stay put—
because I know
that just because you plant a seed
doesn't mean it wants to grow.