if I could trim lines
texture words
savor each syllable
perhaps
all the passion that erupts
from my ******* would subside
waves would cease their capsizing
sunsets wouldn't hurt my eyes
with their unmistakable beauty

if I could taste the ink-bed
beforehand would sensations
arouse this page instead of my hips
and mind with midnight lips that kiss
each pondering in unbearable sighs
I want to expel this tempest
in gaslit pages
that burn and burn and  
BURN inside

til your hands clutch
these feelings
enmeshed in ecstasy
the splendorous ache of
wanting craving
love's euphoric madness
so much
that only words
cup your face
graze your lips
spoon your soul

we sat after class tracing scratches
through six months of static
stinging and hacking
from so much phlegm
trapped in our vocal chords

as I wrote
their bravery bled through
my dry silence,
an overpowering heat
strengthened my resolve
to speak through crippled lips
bloated from too many withheld words

I closed my eyes, felt their calm
soothing my hands
folding them into a fingered steeple
where now we bow our heads
retreating from today's tension
into the solitude of curved symbols
a hieroglyph for hearts

to recreate
          that which was once broken
to foster reconnection from distance
to peel back layers of feeling
and arrange our secrets
         as poetic scripture

tomorrow threads a new day
desks pulled out into the hallway
masks adorned in silence
speaking with sincerity to students  
I might never meet face to face
yet their hearts pour out
in my dreams, making me long to hear
their endless conversations
for once a teacher
I  cannot sway my heart
from caring, and so I don the mask
and when they come to class next week
the focus becomes their learning
less upon a nightly fear for my health
for giving is our greatest gift
may self concerns be eclipsed
by love for the gift of teaching
this is my greatest wish

your words cultivate my body
          into a vast garden
tended by an avid gardener's care
       seasoned hands bedeck my fields
in hyacinths, lilies, and daffodils  

        my eyes and cheeks arrayed
in swathes of color
                   a canvas path splayed
with your artistry

       through fingers you *****
                  a hanging bridge dangling
from my *******
      serpentining through hosts of trees
            atop a rushing ravine      
such dramatic whimsy
                 suspends my breath

      how your natural hands express
  my bounty in
               each blossom's fragrance
through fluttering leaves
        your lips possess  a heightened understanding    
              of what a place love can be

you carve into
                  my hip
                               a Chinese
                                                  bridge
             the crescent
                                arch    
                                          reflected

in the water's counter image
               to form our moon's fullness
         these ripened sensations
cast dew upon
my lashes and lips
          damp from night's thickening air

you are the conductor
               of my blooming season,
        whose orchestral timing
arouses from my flesh
     speckled      
          foxgloves
and contoured tulips
                              

  such musical themes erupt in me
        through your color's symphony
and when light
   descends we form
          a lover's nest
swaddled in trees

We may not know yet
the contours of our hands
or the way our lips come together
to create a chapel of divinity,
but we know the textures
of our laughter, how our thoughts
harmonize, how it feels to breathe
each other's sensitivities.

You may not have felt them
with your eyes, but your heart
has caressed my scars and soothed
their tinted stains until the hurt
beneath their puckered skin dissolves
as two lovers confess freely, express
in a liquid aura of unconditional love
without pride or vanity.

honesty comes from peeling back
the veneer of who you thought to see
(the self in me they'll find pleasing)
for the dirt floor essence of my reality

I am no longer Spring's scented bloom
of night jasmine or periwinkle
the smile lines crease my face
and there's an arc to my laughter
that wasn't there 10 years before

when I listen to you, I see
both what you wish to say
as well as what your thoughts imply
and, sometimes, (well, more often
than I'd care to admit),
I pour a glass to numb
the aching world collecting
between my toes,
leaving callouses
on my heart

yes, I'm good at posing smiles
to silence the creaking floorboards
that gnaw me awake inside
but tonight,
here's a toast to
authentic reflections,
bleary eyed
with streaks of silver hair
luxuriously lining
the sheen of youth's ebony

here's to patience
and forgiveness
and an unrelenting
taste for love