You’d think it would be
easier, after rattling around this long
with words between my teeth.  But I
haven’t really written love poems before, because
I never thought I’d be qualified
to write convincing ones. All the science
and philosophy in the world and still
the links between my body and emotions remain cloudy:
anger is seldom more
than a slow biting burn behind my eyelids while
sadness means a slower step, and it took
an embarrassingly long time to figure out
what lust felt like.  So forgive me now
if I can’t tell you
all about rapid heartbeats or lovelorn sighs, since
the only things that make my hands shake
are hurricanes and too much coffee, and rationality
still has its cold grip on me.  As much
as I admire your passion, flashing bright
like a bird and trembling strong, I’m only
learning how to let myself go.  My whole
life I’ve loved heights, but the prospect of
falling tends to keep my feet
fearfully on solid ground. But if you ask me, I will leap
and soar with you, against the pull of reason’s
gravity; I will struggle
to untie my tongue and describe the pulse
and flow of every molecule within me, shimmering
golden at the thought
of you.  Let me try
to write the kind of poems I’ve never
attempted, for the one who could unlock these doors
between love and corporality.  Smile now
because you deserve more glimmering words
than I can give you
a thousand pages after I begin.