It’s nothing

Strangely elated
after a night of no dreams but daydreams
I sit down to the feast. Can’t eat.

You come in.

For fear of the flower of darkness being crushed
I shut out the light of your face.
Yet it radiates from a secret source.

Don’t say it, words make us so separate.
There’s more silence in words
than words in your silence.

What I wanted to say:
I want a kiss like a poem.
Tenderness whispered.

You turn.

Beneath our imperfect bodies
we rise
and communicate

nothing.

(1992)