10/4/97
For amelia
your hair flows onto my chest followed by your hand
gently they settle haphazardly like leaves seeking winter
once on the ground, they are art.
we are art, one sculpture of flesh, bone and blood.
i do not know if you can hear me,
there beneath my breast, a pounding so
solemn it keeps time with the poetry in my head.
that is for you, that is you being pushed through
my veins, racing for the core, ready to inhabit
i recall butterflies settling on your arms like rain
your smile spread so vibrantly, the net captured me
and marriage was my only course.
Can i finish this now? Do i have the right?
