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.