I careen between the iron cross <br />caring and need <br />and you play midnight cello moaning tones <br />from it emit your voices. <br /> <br />I sit in the executive chair <br />in corporate blue <br />my bow string <br />drawing intensities <br />from nebulae <br />from which my star was born; <br />it exploding <br />willingly <br />because it senses <br />your desires <br />circling <br />in Maypole Spring's Dancings. <br /> <br />Sometimes <br />all is in the yearning <br />not in consummation <br />because the former is perfection <br />and the latter too risky; <br />thus we anvil stamp <br />in misty nights <br />and allow souls to rise <br />and meet <br />and that us often enough <br />for eternity <br /> <br />allowing us the purity <br />having resisted <br />pressing <br />hungry <br />inevitabilitites <br />for the time being.<br /><br />Lonnie Hicks<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/anvil-stamped-in-the-office/
