Dip your fingers into oceans of light
tiny moons in our outstretched hands
a remembrance of open palms
sifting through infinite time
powerless to reverse the hours
Neruda’s “Ode To Time”
My eyes have burned out in your beauty
but you are my eyes.
I perhaps exhausted your breasts
beneath my kisses but the world knows
your secret splendor is my happiness.
Love, what does it matter that time,
the very time that raised two flames,
two waving heads of wheat,
my body and your gentleness,
tomorrow will hold them safe.