handcuffed we are

one more hour, then a minute more
finally this wine takes its toll
and the last toast will be on you.
when rain falls and before all
umbrellas disclose the secrets
in a whisper, i will have taken
you away from this deluge and
into the overflow of words, worthy
conversations leading us to a night’s
arrest… handcuffed we are, finally,
prisoners to our own drunken stare

subside

there is no sound quite like the
whisper of first rain against your
body; how each drop strangely
beckons my hands to explore
mysterious intimations dispersed
upon your skin, where the secrets
embedded in each pore entice me to
settle in territories here never
before discovered— beside this
navel is where i want to swallow
wholly this cupped water as it
cascades down your face… here is
where i want to gaze into your eyes,
ensconce myself in your vision; if
i can, for just one moment, linger
just a bit longer and take refuge
under the canopy of your distinct
embrace, i am certain now we shall
culminate a storm and no forecast
can tell when we shall subside

© mr gahon 4/23/15