I like the Look, the
Look of Love, at the
Instant you think - No –
You feel – no, no –
You Are. Unable to
Hold on for even
One more tick,
One more urge,
One more driving in your
Depths; for you are
Moving the world and
Then some with
You are taking the
Next plane stand-by,
Stand-up: strap me to the
Hull and let me
Ice over like
Late harvest Riesling,
Caked with Noble Rot, but
Oh so sweet, so thickly,
Slippery sweet. The
Taste, the smell, the
Enormous bursting
Fire-red connected
Mutual blush:
Look of Love.

rjw, 1/22/03

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