So many plans swimming in my head,
I forgot that they're snares: what
you have now I would not recreate.
What happened to simply having fun?
What happened to a simple evening date?
What ever happened to a frolick
or a tumble, and gazing into eyes,
rubbing shoulder, kissing navel?
This Romantic is coiling himself in dreams
of Love, Love like a kudzu vine
encircling the house, creeping in
through open sash windows and doors.
Love should not be like that:
love should be light, love should be
free. If I had you, would I succumb
to black fear? That terror of the unknown?
Love comes when you're ready.
But am I ready for you? Yes, I am
but I must stop seeing you as heavy.
You are weightless, and yet
you weigh on me. You are modest;
yet you have such gravity.
And I'd never be the one to make you see.
But I'd show you love in a smile, in a kiss
and I'd not brush your shoulder feather-light,
like this, to get you in the mood; I'd put off
sex, just lie there quietly, staring into your eyes
holding the silence in my ears, then say
'Hey, how are you?' Listen to the pauses
in between the things you say and how you breathe.
And then I'd hold you through the night until such time
as to brush your shoulder, feather-light, and make you shine.