When you are soaked with love,
the dream come true, flesh
meeting flesh, which those two minds
direct; neither from below nor above,
I fold up in you, renewing stealth.

Only as it should be, needing
no comment from us, who speak
in syllables of silence and deceit:
the past a death we live through,
hand-in-hand with each stalled move.

I take your sigh, place the wish
upon my neck; the embrace
sets free both night and day, we
hold the light against dead time:
call the miracle to task again.

©Dean Baker

©All Rights Reserved

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s