Come back to me.
The road is waiting quietly outside your door,
the wind is blowing the leaves this way.
It is late afternoon,
the best time for making love; half the world
is sleeping now: no longer sad
the violins fit
into their velvet cases, and lovers there
must do without their eyes.
Come back, I want to tell you how
all of the things I only half-believed before
are true, I want to find
that part of you I never touched
and make it blossom,
I want the clock to count the hours as seconds
until your sorrow is forgotten.
Don't watch the sunlight lazing on the street,
don't wait for fruit to grow without a rind.
You know the way,
the heat that's in the flesh by afternoon,
the taste of salt,
the face that fits into your eyes.
I want to know, again,
what it's like to breathe your words;
I want to know, once more,
how it feels
to be peeled and eaten whole, time after time.
~ by Kevin Hart