Touch

"Everything here is yellow and green." Anne Sexton

You pull me into your

delicate sea,

As I shiver at your touch,

Now I'm a valley and you're

a mountain,

Now I'm dark green and you're

bright yellow,

You play me like an instrument,

pulling my strings

one by one,

As I respond in a symphony

of poetic madness,

Crying on my pillow, I hug

the empty space

between us,

Longing for the night when

I first touched you.

Love, darling, is a silent mistress,

who comes streaming through

my fingers in gentle tears.

We have lost the softness

and the tenderness of her touch,

Sleeping on a bed of nails,

we scream in agony of her

passing.

But I know that deep inside you

there is a flower growing,

longing for the moisture

of a kiss, for the freedom

of the ocean.

We meet and part in its darkness

Leaving a trail of tears behind us.