MORE CAME
If, in this web of copper, glass, concrete
And carbon, we could join our yielding souls
Any other way, I'd find this, our wholes
Inside these cubes of labor's being, sweet.
A blown kiss, or a gentle waving treat
Tenders memory's store more than touch foals
Taste or sense of soft-urging pressure's goals:
Greater longing, sooner flown down the street!
Still, our love for love owns nothing we see,
Though nothing replaces skin on skin impressed --
Our nows' deny us, even when framed art.
Electrons current our sharp need -- the heart,
Despite its pumping pleasure's seed, finds rest.
As ever, we bring what we send, thus free.
Copyright (C) 2012 William Mark Gabriel. All Rights Reserved.
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