My Lover
If I were to write about
Her body,
I would perhaps begin with Her hair,
and then Her eyes.
Inevitably, I would move
to Her breasts,
Perfect and supple and tender.
Then I would have to move further,
down to Her legs,
which I would be forced
to describe as long
and lithe, though it may
not be so.
If I were to write about Her body,
I would write about Her lips,
and Her hands,
but I would not be writing
about Her in a true sense.
I would not be writing
about all of Her, or even
most of Her.
She is so much more than just
her body.
Because She is my One, She is my Only,
She is my lover.
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Poetry
 The Girl of Shakespearean Lectures
Inkblots Part II
Through the Kitchen Window
Beyond
Cancer
My Lover
The Sound
Genovese
The Girl Who Needs to be Loved
The Subject
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