Hover in Wax Light

Is it the south in her gait, banter and forearm?

Is it in smiles of honesty, hardwork and spine?

I see it written below her fingers when they touch mine.

I hear her laugh, screams, tears and fists

I taste it her offerings:

nuts, cheese, 

picnic fruits,

and lips.

The choral of Angels sing through her ears,

from ancient strings, long throat, laughs

and banjos.

But it's time and timing

I break the clock, I feel her eyes, I see her heart

   but I run sometimes, to hotels to hide my own

that missing jewel

from a stream of gold

Our families, in dusk 

Our regrets lay aside

from acting as we must

Why I deny, 

I'm only wishing that

She will know