You have what I’m after,
what I long for; whatever
it is I love, you’re it.
My heart’s fist is pounding, pleading.
I thank the fairy tales for you,
I thank your mother and father,
and Death for not having laid eyes on you.
I thank the air for you.
You are slim as a wisp of wheat,
fragile as the outline of your body.
I have never loved a slender woman
but you have enamoured my hands,
you have tethered my lust,
lured my eyes like two fish.
So here I am besieging your door, waiting.