Hang On, Hang On
I loved a tall, lean man
with ropes for hands
bone-white teeth in a smile as deep as night,
heart wild, but tamed.
His hands would span
the width of me,
a whispered supplication at my breast
the water’s edge soft creeping.
What stillness there, and there
I do not dream without that voice;
what notes and soft, soft quiet air inside of me.
I am ragged too, but hope for rest;
This is the thing that binds you -
a nostalgia and memory, twisted round.