Introduction

What would I do with you? A tantalizing
Thought, subject of our inquiry: touch
Your thighs where the short hairs cut,
Slowly, or lap your chest with my
Tongue, the way that waves survey
A timid shore? What storms must I rein in
To hold the light-house of your gaze?
But I would be a rage, with lightning
In my eyes, my words a thunder;
The violet flower, wracked
In rough-edged winds, would crumple,
Fall -- when I want to crush
The petals in my palm, and smell
Their deep bouquet. Come to me nearly
Far, just close enough to reach
In the space between our air.
Then I would hold my hand
Out, stretched into its straining tips,
And wait to feel your fingers' clasp.