The New Lover
Who are you, this man who
has crossed my threshold,
entered my kitchen,
entered my life, and
entered me?
From what alien world, traveling to
the middle of my mind,
the brink of my heart,
the boundary of my soul,
can you be?
Who in heaven sent to you
a written invitation,
a quickly scribbled note,
a frequently whispered prayer
to have tea?
Oh yeah, the nano-second that I saw you,
like a chemical reaction
in every limb and organ,
in every cell and sinew –
it was me.
I can picture how we two melted over a glass of freshly squeezed
oranges and apples I believe,
held hands and felt the
energy.
Although your face was still so new –
It’s how it’s done these days –
intimacy with a stranger.
I rather like it I must say,
happily.
So brilliantly in tune to every cue
we smoke, we smolder,
we burn, we brew,
we sip, we swallow,
intimately.
What conceivable harm does it do?
In measuring the importance
of the biologic stew some
say that the percentage
Is eighty.
To actually know you
I can take all . . . my . . . time.
No mad rush to conclusions,
No sad sprint to commitments;
But we can have our pleasure
ASAP.
We dance a dizzy salsa, we two,
jumping in and stepping back,
skipping forward to go slow,
testing and running the diligence due, just
to let it be.
No need to decide a thing before the day is through,
a week, a month, a year or two . . .
We only grow younger together.
Our only risk is reaching an age too pure to love.
And what risk is that?
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