Time for a change. I also thought I would share this poem I came across in one of my notebooks. I don't know when I wrote it, but it's nestled between note on Gwendolyn Brooks' "The Mother":
I would not really
want to
rip your clothes from
your work-weary body
and climb aboard
like so many
disillusioned tourists
I would want to take
your tireless hands
and hold them to my lips
I would want to lay you down
on a divan with seven veils
I would want to
explore the map of your face
and understand the reasons
for obscurities
I would want to
feel your pulse
like the ancient auyervedics
procure the herbal physic
to ease the injury
that is why
it cannot be
you would end up
needing me
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