O sweet invite! Thus a partition is undone
by a welcoming palm and a longing arm,
and so too is the cover that barred the way so much,
the lingering and its dilly-dallying lull—
like that blank page sliding, by the thumb,
between the jacket and the frontispiece,
and the book’s first image-churning lines,
and love’s overture—its initial, unveiling act—
past a merely tentative, borrowed yes,
past the waiver, past the silent wait,
leaving window curtains stunned,
with eyes mended to the deepest shine.
How simply then we could come close—
and in—and across a gracious smile!
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