the gifts you could offer me

to the stranger who would take my heart
how well do I know you without hearing your voice?

do you word-speak truly, is there honesty’s glow
in your dark eyes as you search my responses?

intimate details seem so easy to disclose
when your face remains hidden in my imagination

perfection comes to mind, fantasies never admitted
if you touch me in my secret places, love will surely grow

tell me no more, offer me quickly the gift of your face
of your voice of your soft caress of your life

let me stop dreaming about your kisses, of your strong arms
hoping that tomorrow after such tantalizing seduction

I will feel less alone, somehow, that must be possible
are there any guarantees that your heart is not already taken

and belongs only to the mysterious air separating us
in a land that I will never truly call home?

no, my heart is not for sale — these gifts of innocent
avowal belong to someone else pretending to know my desire

and my silent tears when you disappear into your own world
will be shared with no one tangible, no one real enough

to care for my secret gardens, desiring to grow into one
of my tender rose bushes… no, you remain the thorns



the gifts you could offer me
[2007.30.9…b]