Someone once said to me, you had a boyfriend.

I was not discouraged, as not much can really

discourage my courageous romanticism.  

And I thought to myself, you have a boyfriend.

But what if you had a better time with me

than you have smelling the salt of his sweat

that echoes in his sea-foam eyes.  Eyes

that grow roots into your heart, spreading

warmth down to your beautiful toes.

But words.  Words become a subtle waltz

of small sounds, focusing the world

to the breadth of a candle flame.  

Then the infinite stretch of time

between that first kiss

and that last goodnight

and then that first kiss of morning light

upon the dew of your shoulders

in a room too hot for blankets.