#of robert frost

[hummingbee-lievable]

Stormfire Heart

You wanted a poem that talked about you

the way Gwendolyn Brooks talked about Robert Frost.

You wanted proof of my savouring you

the way she admired his lightning eyes and

iron mouth.

You wanted me to show you that I see you as

splendid.

Is it enough to tell you?

I can't take your gentle face in my hands

and kiss your soft brow

or take your loving fingers and

intertwine them in mine;

I can't press your willing head to my clockwork heart;

I can't savour the grasping of your throat

as you work to meet me with waterfall words and empathetic understanding

but I can tell you that I love you.

Is that enough?

Maybe not.

I can tell you that I love you, today.

And tomorrow.

And every day after.

Would that suffice?

I cannot hold you so far away from me that

as the light falls onto you I can

appraise your shape as though you were no more than

statuesque.

You are too close. And too much mine. And too much your own.

You are too human and too real to be placed on stone pedestals and treasured in two dimensional letters scrawling across flat page.

Instead

I would like to treasure you with my hands. With my mouth. With my words. With my life.

I would like to take your edges and hold them in the palm of my hand and treasure them

and then I would like to place your footsteps next to mine

and take your hand.

Is that enough?

[transparenteyeball]

Him.

There is a little lightning in his eyes.   Iron at the mouth. His brows ride neither too far up nor down.   He is splendid. With a place to stand.   Some glowing in the common blood.   Some specialness within.

~ Gwendolyn Brooks