Among the moving Sunlight of the room
I hear her cook. The fridge door clatters shut
as ice cubes hit the floor. Remember when
her little dress made that soft, lazy sound
on the pillows? I didn't know I had
a love like that, a word for lust, a lust
for word, but when she kissed me I aspired
slowly for the Sun. A lotus comes
up from the mud, through the cloudy water,
pierces the surface. Out in the air
I am a smell as free as subtle things,
I am the light that can never be grasped,
described nor represented. She had spoke
the mystery into my future psalms.
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