Surface sound
What is the surface sound of love?
How do the roof of lake and moonlight mingle?
What is urge to touch soft skin,
a young mole mountain fill of breast
and what is certain knowledge,
that your life
will never be the same,
an empty hush of grave,
without her?
What is the surface sound of love,
where lust and need are but poor shadows
of a joy you cannot name?
When faces in the street
become untangled, sweet Picassos -
and stranger flesh
a hint of Heaven fare:
a promise that the one you love
is always present in all moments?