as he did before
with skill and passion
he read once in a magazine
it translated as an eager wetness
that had me looking for an umbrella
how i wished for hands
that traveled timidly around
my body
fingers that gloried on its twisted journey
in the tumble of
my hair
how i hoped for warmth
and decisiveness
to touch the beginnings of
my heart
if i could only start
that time over again
with the poet's bravery
that i have now
it would have been different for he
and me
but the past is meant to be
lived not changed
no rearrangement
would help me learn
that the first burn is never perfect
but oh how it glow!
(ago)
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