if i've loved you a day

if i have loved you a day,
i have loved you a thousand days

if i have known your smile,
i have known every
sweet yellow ray
that ever has shone

if i have lived in your words,
and been spoken so gently,
no new sounds will ever suffice

if i have seen a star, or a sun,
or a moon beaming brightly,
so i have witnessed your keen reflection
and admired your light-filled presence

if i have loved you a day,
if i have loved you
a single second,
then full is my cup
and envious are the worlds
which exist without you.

no you in my morning

grey are my mornings
with no you to wake by my side,
dew has refused to settle on
green leaves outside my window,
pity takes refuge in my dresser drawers
next to silk lingerie
and woolen winter socks

with you went the sparkle on my ceiling
and the shocks on my doorknob,
no sugar can sweeten the black coffee
brewing in my dreary kitchen,
from my shower’s head flow rays of
luke-warm fluid,
no heat to waken me
with no you in my morning

house at home

The men they all tell me,
there’s something I’ve got,
something that makes them
forget what they’ve not,
what not to say,
who not to play,
where not to go,
whose house is home

They all think they’re happy,
green shutters and puppies,
filling SUV gas tanks
like prize-winning yuppies,
but then they meet me,
and rethink what they’ve thought,
think why,
think how,
think no,
no way this house is home

They want me to teach them,
I say it’s too late,
they’ve run straight head into
that thing we call fate,
fated ring,
fated breast,
fated poem,
fated place
you call home

She is every woman

She is every woman.
She slaps beauty in the face.
She is why men hunger for female skin,
She is why lovers hold each other
at night
and why they love each other
in the morning.
She is further than the east
and Her norths and souths stretch miles
beyond border lines,
Her voice slows frenzied cities,
Her hands cradle every baby sweetly
and brush hair out of frightened eyes,
She
is my Mother,
and my Sister,
and my Grandmother,
and all Her feminine grace
is outlined with scarred knees
and weathered crow’s feet,
because She has never taken
the trodden path,
never just
existed.
She keeps secrets
because She promised,
and Her promise is purposeful,
like Her,
and like every woman who breathed
before Her.

Come close

Why so far away, darling?
Come close,
stay closer.
Your skin belongs on mine,
our legs tangled in purple sheets.
Breathe.
Do not whisper,
Please.
Do not whisper,
I want to hear you,
I want to feel every brush
of your finger’s tips,
every moist drop from your lips.
Come to me,
I will steal you
from this place.

Her

She is the kind of girl men fall in love with.
She is the kind of girl who makes
women question their loyalties.
She is the girl with the softest hair
and the shapeliest thighs,
her smile begs attention,
and her eyes, god,
her eyes tell you all
you love and hate
and wish you could change about yourself.
And when she walks?
Well, she certainly does not walk.
She glides
like liquid-sexuality,
and her head does not
sit atop her neck as most do,
but floats, instead, above her shoulders,
as if a love song sways permanently
on her lips.
And her hips?
Her hips bend in perfection
and shame the most luxurious sensuality.
Yes, her beauty flows in waves,
and her words are deliberate,
and she listens,
and you are the most important
person
in the entire world.

If you love me

If you love me like a mountain,
which mountain?
If you love me like the ocean,
is it the warm Pacific or the cool Atlantic?
If you love me wide as this galaxy
and tall as Babel’s tower,
if you love me deep as a canyon
and heavy as rainforest showers,
Then please,
love me only as real as the morning.
And if you love me
(truly)
love me like a country road,
or a reddish rose,
like a wooden barn
or warm, woolen scarves,
Love me like slow jazz,
like afternoon naps,
like wind-blown hair
and white-washed rocking chairs.
And if you love me
(truly)
love me simply,
without selfish similes
and lofty metaphors,
just
love me.