I have no desire to convince you
That you love me
If your first waking breath is not
The gasp of joy
Recognizing
Another day as
The Beloved
And
If your tears are not
In finding
Fathomless forms of beauty
Embracing us
In our garden of delights
And
If your tongue is not inspired
By the taste of
Ocean’s brine and blessings
And
If your ears fall silent to my
Cooings under your hand
And
The soft flutter of feathers
Are not in response to the rush of desire
Then our joy is naught
But phantoms
Echoes
Heartless mirages
In a dire desert
Diminishing what
Love’s potential
Holds for us as children of the muse
I’d rather
Find descent
Within the depths of arctic waste
And hope that in the times to come
A shift of poles will turn the seasons for all lovers yet to be