She is aflame, a willful conflagration… yet I contemplate her scorch/embrace…

most trees see where you are going wrong
but they have no permission to tell you
and it is torture for them, love
they want to cradle you, a pink sweet acorn

I know your error also, my heartwish
but could we really entangle enough
in soul’s fondle not only in body
that you’d open when I weep the answer between your breasts

yes maybe, I could stretch a wide hand
pinky stroking one nipple while my thumb tip your other
leaving a free hand to crawl your moist ravine
and my mouth to give up in your lips

but would we ever glimpse Philadelphia, love
be it a blissful night or earnest season
while your ferocious capacity for Eros
falters frozen whenever directed within

_______RS

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