Love is not still.dƒ

It is not still.

CASIO: each flicking particle of a number

marks the march of time,

a breath that sounds different

from the previous

and the next

.

Those shifting shadows of May Day sky,

pulsed forwards the clouds and tones

across grass and skin - jumper off

and on again as your gaze turns

cold to me

with a simple

passing breeze.

The nettles,

the bamboo shuffles

and I thought you were creeping amongst them.

An itch furrows and beclouds my heart. Sapping,

lapping at the shore of you, unable to contain the fear

of you.

It is me me who lets the power of it hold me captive to your

every sigh and retraction.

Action - or not?

To be still feels like the truth more often.

To know that someone is in the next room,

but to be wordless.

And ride each tide of emotion and sensual rapture,

let that moment be what pulls us forward,

keep me grounded in the fire in my stomach -

keep me searching,

intrigue and thirst for landscapes,

heart songs and traction

with music from far-off skies -

and keep me humble enough to shift for you,

as we accommodate each other's growth

and sing praise as milestones are met.

I bow to the alter of my soul so there is

space enough for two.