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Honey/Manila Portfolio
This is not a book. Otherwise, by now We would love each other. You would not put me first, Out of a kind habit, under your coat And clutch—as a sudden rain Spate down. For I've seen it done For the hardly known. No, you would know with a book you love: How nothing held your eyes The way the words did, with archer-focus: How each arrow heading toward you Was slowed by the dripping beehive On its spike— Nothing else could hold what you are Still: I pressed your heart in speech and saw What a musical you let rush, nothing Else in the eyes. This is not a book, But a streak— Words cross reins— The brow splits, veins careen.