PLEA TO A LOVER

PLEA TO  A LOVER

Please come,
Minister to me when the night is deep,
And my body sweats in a broken sleep.

Please come,
Read my last words like a ravished fan,
Who cannot see how banal I am.

Please come,
Reassure with a warm embrace,
Not some rare startled look on your face.

And when you go,
Please cover me in kisses
And a warm bedspread,
Pulled lovingly over my twitching head.

And do all this with the requisite feeling,
As my spirit takes leave to dance on the ceiling,
Out the window to mingle with the saints,
Leaving behind a rich palette,
Of vivid watercolor paints.

The painting of us in Italy,
The frieze of us in France,
The fun we had in Ireland,
The jig I tried to dance.

Please don't regret a moment,
A second of our bliss,
I know I ask a lot of you,
But please remember this.

I was and am your biggest fan,
You held me in the palm of your hand.
You had the power to make me swoon,
I always thought you hung the moon,
And always you did so with the requisite ease,
So come tiptoe softly to me
And tenderly comfort me please.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2015
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED