Like a hand on an unstrung harp

O, I envy your voice when it maddens,
the way it moves in & out of love.
I feel the sound of soft bone splinter
in an instant―fragments, ardor, the slight
of heat beneath skin it is radiant.

The rush an explosion of sorts like lilies
a thousand shades of white as September
rises to rain beyond sense of place,
beyond our eyes.

I sense the tightness in my throat as you
place your words onto the quiet of mine.
I quiver before my own heart: a girl drawn
restless in half moon, favored in your light.

I see rows of brilliant bloom, a garden,
a gate succulent, inviting. And as I give
in to downpour, my walls collapse, hands
slipping into the warmth of yours.