I see you

                     and tenderness buds,

                                                                   unscales,

                                                 swells,

                                                                unpetals,

                                  overwhelms,

I should

have predicted it,

should have expected it for didn't I first love

your verse,

that offering of chaliced self,

of you,

stripped bare.

Not

meant for me, of course,

more

pulsar wind, a nebular force, interstellar pulsating flux

but I felt that raw hurt

and great strength,

spectral channelling and a quivering emerged in me

a zeroing in.

You say I ran to you. No, Love,

                                                                I rocketed.