Love, I have known you

in the improbable eyes of a gentle boy

who revved his bike along the summer shore

spraying me with sand, not knowing I was there.

I’ve felt you in the tremor of my untried lips,

pressed against his urgent mouth.

Later in September, the leaves were turning brown;

our hairs on end—the sliver of an early moon

—paused like a comma in the sky—

he uncovered me against the twilight wind

and Love, your fingers closed around my trembling heart.

 

Love, I’ve heard you in forbidden whispers

shared with someone else on borrowed time. 

I’ve tasted your bitter and your sweet,

watching too many backs recede.

You’ve left me on fire, simmering in your glow,

whimpering in the embers left when someone had to go.

I’ve searched for you among the early blossoms,

remembering to shield myself from thorns.

And yes…I’ve turned from you—

weary of dried petals that always follow you.

I’ve eluded you and longed for you,

but now we meet again.

I know I mustn’t count the beads of sorrow,

nor ask about tomorrow.

I must embrace you, Love—if only just for now.

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