Walking naked now
through your quiet immensements
and I am pregnant
with a knowing:
your boundary
like mine
rebounds with touch -
too little; too much.
Mine reaches out before me,
an invisible field, pushed
from heart-length
to arm's length
bristled by the slightest brush.
Just respect me:
don't correct me.
Don't bottleneck me.
If you want love,
build it.
Make castles in the sky,
but try not to brush the clouds.
No comments:
Post a Comment