By Star of David
Date: 2013 Jan 28
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you can’t help but wonder
at the way he kisses
              – too tender, as if he isn’t
              certain he’s allowed,
              let alone desired –

you catch your breath, fight
for air; the night weighs heavy
              – his kisses are almost
              as light as the touch of his
              fingers (raindrops, sliding) –

what a time to remember
‘the prophet’
              – the pain
              of too much
              tenderness –

too-much-tenderness his instrument,
too tender, his music
              – he plays it
              for you best:

                                  you let him.