They say only the very young
who are tender of heart
will remember to wait
long beyond
what is sensible
and this I know is false
for I am on my third
packet of tissues
and have heard every song
the radio cycles
even those we used to dance to
clumsy and hungry for
some other movement
your hands finding my waist
as they always have and
the delight of your fingers against
my skin
I was and am
a creature of longing
because of you
no more bound to my human disguise
than the hummingbird
who with winter
succumbed to our dreams
and the rain falling today is not
a harbinger or totem
it is the rain we kept inside
when words would not do
and tears had exhausted chaffed cheeks
so accustomed to smiling
when you rounded the corner
waving until your hand reached mine
and we ran headlong and urgent
shedding the costume of girls
painting feathers and moonshine
finding gems in the crease and fold
of each others desire
you gave me a brush
made of horse hair and
I dropped pearls along your clavical
from my deep swim of you
in shade we float
night lilies, roots wrapped around
the other
open for a time only long enough
to speak through our kisses
the rage of separation
softened against
this knowing stillness
breathing against the other
where could you go?
far enough
to have mislaid
your certainty
it is only ever us
nothing more needed
seek a name
we have written ours
into the very fabric of
sky