Martin: the silver gift
Words as if written in blood stream forth,
voiced from eyes that are not my own,
and in their tears I discover my stripped reflection.
The tap of his fingered beat-
hands molding, grasping,
assimilating veins rise and fall.
Each of his measured breaths my cry for life's vibrance.
I withdraw,
clinging to the moment of connected honesty,
leaving my soul to melt silently in his shadow.
(12-2-98)
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