I have a pile of sweaters that
Rarely find use anymore.
Turquoise chest bulges with
Collections of discarded clothing;
They will find their use, even if
It's only for peace of mind in times
When I fear the winter.
----------------
Some evenings we fold ourselves in
And out again, across our
Canvas of skin.
----------------
Someone wrote the greatest love poem
You ever read; (S)he sold the recycled lines
And constructed the exhilarations, probably
Tapped out on an ancient type-writer.
Some evenings you can hear her whisper,
"Come to me"
And through the rain and traffic noise she
Anticipates the response.
