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The pumpernickel of my heart,
the bolting horse of my love, has
broken out upon my sleeve its
pendant self, the very pulse of
my love, its wine, I tender to
your lips my lips that tender love
to your ear that touching love tells
to whom, their openness welcomes,
in this snail time, these telling feet
that slog by mail--Cry out by phone!--
tied by the spikes of places--We
would strike such show of not showing!
Pull that stake from the heart...by this
hand!...Tears of love’s blood, distance is...
its wound.
In flesh be resurrected love!
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