When I

			write a poem that excites
			a reader the way you excite me
			so I tremble inside
			at the mere thought
			(I will not mention
			except to say)

			Old Seventy creek is
			no more beautiful in its way
			than your eyes when you do not divert them,
			for its water captures open sky.
			It is no more beautiful in its body
			than you are in yours
	       that I can never touch.

			I will touch you with words,
			hesitating words,
			tightly pressing
			against your softness-
			words that are fingers-
			words that are lips,
			exploring the vastness,
	      the unmapped universe
			of the page
			upon which you lie.