Words unbidden from my tongue too often seem to slip
While my eyes gaze glassy and my swollen lips do part.
Mounting, these vines seem to climb so swift along these walls,
While I notice not the passing time and days become years within this conclave.
Hours, moments as but a sigh, where the only sound heard is the whisper of our lips meeting.
Hearty, heavy, a chuckle bursts free from your lips, while I can do naught but smile.
A freedom I had yet to taste and all the while caught in these growing fetters,
Nevertheless tempted and nonetheless tasted, I wrap them idly ‘round my wrists.
And yet my disquiet hangs heavy in the air, a mist that creeps,
Threatening the garden I have tended all my own,
Seeds spilt from my own hands with only salted water to help them grow.
A poor pittance to lay before this edifice so carved,
Its angles traced by the tips of my fingers as gently as the pen which never pressed these words to paper.
Never had I sought such a gift for myself, yet here stumbles the celestial into this little garden,
And I, awaiting, ardent, fervent,
And with as an unstudied an air as possible,
As you lean into the light,
I release the breath
I never knew I was holding.
