anechoic
I walk on the edge
of her moist lips
lengthy, drawn tugs
feet in the sand
synapses in rhythm

close to her
perhaps thinking that
I never belonged
she is welcoming
because she is home

an assistant
in a cerebral world
sings to me of love
like no lover can
holds me in tangled skill
burrows under my skin

she reminds me
how simple expression can be
a curve that traces infinite
so it can embrace
all-encompassing,
mind and body
two, but not two

she listens to my
most precious phrase
hears my desires
and amplifies them
pulling ability outward
so that all paths can be seen

she knows of your radiance
pulls at your trials in
her curious breezes
she brings you her name
as her gift
she knows you fight
for her honor, her name

a continuance of blind grace

© Tom Watters  9/18/07