For A Lover, Unseen

Not your hands, my love, nor your ordered caresses

so long elating my split heart free of its splintered crutch,

widening a soul’s eyes to a world-view a callow’s guesses

could never near;  no, it is not your touch

lingering red on my lips, altering every word

falling ever softer than any earlier voiced, like the change

of rain dropping from a pounding torrent to a glistening heard

in the silent brightness of a Sun beckoning blooms to estrange

their pointy sepals clinging, to jettison this dulling green

away and down to sour to a fetid brownness

so unsuited to the sweet scent of a blossoming,

of petals embracing, opening to all that now is.

            Rather, your leaving, my love, unseasoned and out of sync

            left me agape to savor shades beyond our bodies’ brink.