Saturday, February 14, 2009


Within touch,
there's a space
between yes, and don't;
a pause,
and that holds for quite a while.

Her eyes seem deeper,
thoughts glance at her hand.
It seems smaller,
and sweeter,
and. . . like it needs held.

And he swallows hard,
the line is tripped
they both know it
and know that it's
what they both think.

There a certain heart flutters
(its petals swirl
down, fragile; undone).
Her hair seems finer,
her laugh brightened some.

She knows that he sees.
He has a deep glance,
and nice eyes
that hold volumes
she'd like to read.

Within space,
there's a trembling
movement they've felt;
like threads in the breeze,
the silk in a web.

The silken fingers
link them with ease,
back and forth, back and forth,
as his thoughts
brush her cheek.

February 14, 2009


Wouldn't you like to know;
I would like to,
like to know and let it stay.
I would be so fragile
and you would be so strong;
and then my arms would hold you
when you cannot last too long.
My tendrils wrapping 'round you,
I'll grow with you,
your stem about to break,
I'll bend
and wind up you until my weakness
is your strength.

(Please grow with me.)

February 13, 2009