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Poem
All hail thy – sweet – small – courtesies of life.
For smooth do they make the road of it.
Grace and beauty – they cut so deep not unlike a knife -
They beg all inclinations toward love at first sight.
Yes, ‘tis those courtesies which let the stranger in.
And those tones and mannerisms, they too have a meaning.

Oh - ‘tis a blessed thing,
One for which I could lose myself
To the honor of my aching.
I fear a heart which bears all to itself.
Oh yes, open – ‘lest it shut it all out.
So I ask, “Are not my eyes the scout
For which my heart journeys?
That vision, is it not flowing through my arteries
Bringing my heartbeat’s rhythm in tune?
Oh, let that beat be mine none too soon.”

With that said, she laid out her arm in front of me.
Taking hold of her fingers in my one hand, I aptly
Apply two fingers of my other hand to her wrist -
Firmly - and begin counting her heart's throb.
“One – two – three – four,” counting out aloud
Measuring each heartbeat as it happens –
Hoping to find the art of her fever.
I close my eyes as I continue to count – thinking –
There is no occupation in the world comparable
To feeling a woman’s pulse.
And when I had counted to twenty five
I looked up into her eyes and
At that instant I felt her pulse quicken.
She clutched my fingers tighter in the one hand
While pressing the wrist of her other hand
Harder into my account.

Is it possible for two to become one bone and flesh?
If that is true, what is everything else to become?
Sometimes yours while at other times the other has it?
All the while to be generally on par tallying up the score
As each of us permit the other to share in ourselves –
At least in as much as a man and a woman need to.
Not unlike a bag full of pebbles which started out jagged
And rough, with very little gleam.
Only ‘tis after being years in the bag together
Do the stones, having had many amicable collisions
Wearing down their angles and edges, do they
Become well rounded and smooth with the brilliance
Of their combined luster.
Nothing to either could have ever been
Accomplished alone.

She looks back into my eyes as she presses her wrist into me
and asks,
“How does it beat with you?”
Placing her hand on my neck I say,
“Feel for yourself -
‘Tis an improvement –
‘Tis my evidence.”
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