You bit your lip, a look I took
and tucked between the pages,
young flower with the wild sun
lighting up its lion veins,
and diffident, afraid to open there,
among dry leaves I sometimes turn
to find the day the bind began,
how I stitched my heart to yours
and you searched the room for exits.
Petals pressed between papers,
lips to flesh, mind to memory,
the time wounded body in desire arrives
to touch such that brings its full
sound to the fall of day.