your hands are soft, just
perfect for how you could touch
me. your back is strong.

i wonder where you,
that sentiment, came from.
how my finger throbs.

i point at unseen
threats; it's gone! my love, you're brave,
but jealous like crows.

dry hands cold wind warm--
i want you in my fingers.
i hate all jackets.

touch my nose, your skin;
take what i'm given with grace.
nothing touches me.

snow is on our tree.
lazy, lately i'm not there.
it's colder in me.

not even a sonnet

last night I dreamed you fed me, and
the thought won't let me out.
to taste that rain, the taste of you!
which never leaves my mouth;
my eyes are swollen in the cold--
for that is all it is.
raw images you gave to me,
cruel breaches of my kiss.
this keeps me longer than those scales
which I could love for days
my ribs feel cracked and far too small
my fingertips can pay.

at least no one can call me true;
I reached and cried, "For you, for you!"