I do not want to be intoxicated by love.
I do not wish to dive drunkenly into the waves of consuming passion.
And perhaps I am too sober for you.
Perhaps my hands, and my body, are resting silence.
Perhaps when you come running,
you will see me only breathing, or standing.
Not that I do not want to run,
Or won’t run myself…
I love you.
There is simplicity in that.
And if you will let me show you my ways,
I will paint you in the rainbow hue
Beneath my fingertips.
I will bless you with my lips
And run circuits from the heavens into your soul.
Do not let me move too fast,
For men, and women,
Must move slow in love,
And the temple of her residence must be incensed and prayed before,
The long hallways swept,
The lamps turned warm to welcome her visitors.
Bodies do not come ready for you;
In the case of a woman, they are a site of worship,
A place to come for holy sacrament,
Not to ransack and set fire to.
Many men have not realized this,
And so their love, and passions
And strike a wall wherein their fear and their emotion
And love never touches them;
And they leave emptied, lost, and a little more alone.
Let this not be that type of love,
For I will not invite such a visitor.
You must bow here,
And make amends with the circling doves
And whistle for the sweet dreamer
Who lives inside these walls.
For it is in her garments
That you will become tangled,
Breathing the swallowed waters of her soul,
Until you choke up your unforgiveness
Until you remember why you were running,
Until you know the lone answers to your single, silent, innermost questions.
God is in a woman. If you can pray,
As if she is,
You may find a lifetime of blessings
In her flowering-open, forever skin.