a poem for a Tuesday

My words are about you, about your taut skin

and the seaside blue of your eyes and the heat

pulsating from my cathedral, your body.

My words are about you, my greatest desire,

my poor words, impoverished and dependent

on adjectives, nouns, verbs...trifles.

My words are about you, they are calloused ropes

set to ensnare you, to halt time and rip space

and hold you steady and immortal.

My words are about you, and so about me

and my futile attempts to work base metals

into refined gold.

My words are about you, poor offerings from a poor beggar,

the only thing I can give you since you already

have my beating heart.

My words are about you, and I sing them like a bird

freed from the cage sings a song carried

aloft on white tufts of cloud.

My words are about you, and now I listen

as you cast forth the spell of your words,

and our words are about us.

RR Shea