Language is a metaphor
for direct contact
I understand your silent eye transmissions
& feel the love poems in your touch
Make my flesh real
let your fingers connect me
There’s nothing to stop you
from seeing all the way
to the bottom of my soul

My mind is racing
but it can’t run fast enough
to catch my heart
You’re the source of the quaking
in my solar plexis
How can I hide the burning from the one
from whom I caught it?
Your kisses have danger
written all over them

My heart is roaring
or is it your heart?
Your love still hits like a head on
collision with every day reality
Like a prevailing wind
you’re still blowing my mind
The doors to all my cells fly open
inviting you to break my jail
& free the very last prisoner

How do you know to come
when I’ve lost all my petals
& I’m only covered with thorns?
Even with confusing pain
it’s worth certain death to love you
Our love is healing us more each day
Since you’ve come into my garden
all the flowers you pass
burst into bloom in your wake

~Steve Toth