Malcolm James Furst
Words, words, wordsArchive for you
Your Picture
After all these years,
I found your picture on a friend’s Facebook page,
and when I look at you,
a small part of me (a very small part)
thinks that wanting you,
having you,
would steal the wonder of you away from a deserving world.
But mostly,
when I see you, and your eyes,
(those eyes!)
full of hope and joy, I just want you.
I want you all to myself.
I want you completely.
And I want to give myself to you holding nothing back.
But you’re a continent away,
and you have undoubtedly forgotten
the pull between us,
the tension,
the lust,
the powerful urges.
And you have undoubtedly forgotten
the push between us,
the pain,
the anger,
the heartache;
Otherwise,
your eyes wouldn’t be so
full of hope
and joy.
(You)
You
The thought of you
takes me
to a place
where I feel
warm and sacred
in the moment and eternal
ordinary and extraordinary
loved and loving
When I Know You
When I hear you,
I hear joy, tenderness, laughter, and light,
strength, passion, will, and might.
When I see you,
I see life, beauty, wildness, and truth,
the sun, the moon, wisdom, and youth.
When I smell you,
I smell flowers, musk, your hair, your hands,
dawn and dusk, the beach, the sands.
When I touch you,
I feel your softness, your power, your grace, your art,
the blood coursing through you, the beat of your heart.
When I taste you,
I taste earth, water, cool, and sweet,
body, blood, salt, and heat.
When I know you,
I will know everything worth knowing.
You…
The scent of you, unmistakably you,
lingering, yet elusive.
A light comes in the darkness
Sound comes, softens.
You come back to me
Not just my last memories, but my headiest ones, deepest ones.
Then, a piano . . .
I go there with my voice.
