Don’t tell her you love her
because your lips are sewed with too few days
and greased with oblivion.
Don’t sing her a love song
because your voice was borrowed from the wind
and is wandering in a faceless storm.
Don’t give her the dark chocolate
as love’s emissary
because your heart is made of feathers
and guarded with baskets.
Oh gentle sojourner
from the mountain towns!
Love is the thing
that feeds your blood to the earth
and your tears to dry sands.