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CRY FOR LOVE







And, what is this as I make love to you?  I see your

Never loved limbs for the first time as I make love

To you and behold you are torn asunder but not by me.



I never bit you like that even in my strongest of passion;

Your heart is open now to anyone who can enter; I wish

That it was that way for me alone but such is not the case.



You are weary from the world, listless and tired; your

Mouth has no desire for me nor my aching mouth; when

If ever, was our time together instead of perishing like this.



I am no longer certain who is crying out for love; I or some

Other.  Which one of us is alone and will remain alone for

Some interminable duration until recognition of someone there.



Were we waiting for the Lord of Pleasures to ease us without

Dealing with the recognition that we knew each other. Maybe

Terrors would shock our hearts that we were not prepared for.



All of nature and lovers exhaust themselves so that recognition

Of intimacy is occluded by what was love by pressed flesh is

Seen as consummation but the truth beloved is in your eyes.



Yes, we giving ourselves to each other, believe it is at the expense

Of the other; it is conflict that is our nature.  Who among us who

Steps up to the borders of intimacy is not a gambler squandering all.



You, whom I faced in the most daunting of intimacy, sometimes

Retreated because the face within you changed and I, as a puppet

Reacted to that mood for I understood your cry was my cry for love.