SIGN

SIGN

I want  to take you
on a bed
of wine coloured
roses

my lips wanting your
brown skin
beneath them
for all of
human time

and though
I have not yet
found you

and still have
to persuade you
to commit
to this enterprise

an enterprise in which
we die and die and die
forever and ever
constantly rising
constantly reborn

for which the shade of deep burgundy of
these flowers
           has become
of
this desire and
would be passion
its
  eloquent sign.