With Painted Words

Forgive Me

by Paul R. Davis

I spent love’s harsh coin

carelessly,

selfishly,

as if it would

be of higher value

bringing flowers and chocolate.

I, too, want the flexibility

of belonging,

the homing flight deep into your arms.

I want the knowledge

of our bed,

great ship of truth

that holds an ocean

aching for touch.

Shall I bring summer birdsongs,

the last flowers of autumn,

the fiery death of winter’s sun -

all in all swimming beneath our flesh?

My brain will pour out

for you more than

I can bear to speak,

my eyes as arrows to your longings.

I cannot rest

or die until my body

crumbles, flaking

into love, easy and soothing

as a comfortable chair.

But, you ask,

why do you not feel

the smooth stone

that I call love?

For I am caught, condemned,

animal with its best leg

trapped,

and I cannot spring the lock.

Crying, singing,

my words are ocean waves

that wither on the sand.

But further back,

beyond the cause of wind,

I live in the thought

of beginning,

in the first sight

of you,

when possibilities

were all that mattered,

when I could erase the world.

Forgive me my waste,

for now the sun is rising,

the dew calls me to

worship,

the door opens.  I hope to

find you waiting, welcoming.