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To Whom It May Concern

Not a word!
The eyes speak in rivers,
      the fingers in trees.
The body has a language all its own:
this time we'll send the interpreter home.

I will open you
      petal by petal
      taking all the time in the world.
I will build with you a slow fire
      stick by stick
      and watch the color of your sunrise.
I will play with the wind of you,
      cover your body with smiles and games,
      promises and fantasies that disappear
      without a trace.
I will stir your secret core,
      witches' brew of potions and incantations
      and feel you simmering, rolling
      floating in my hand.
I will fill you slowly up,
      every crevice and curve,
      watch feel hear smell taste you
      growing full.

And when every part of you is one,
when you are saturated, suspended,
water trembling over the brim,
I will ride with you over the falls
      drown with you
      disappear all boundaries
      tumble over and over
           and over and over
until there is only the spinning dizzy
dance beyond dancing
and the great wave crashing to bits
everything, leaving us
strewn with the seaweed
in the sand and the sun
      to dry.



© Copyright 2005 by David Steinberg. All rights reserved.