She Observes His Silhouette Poem by James McLain

She observes 'His' silhouette.
He peels off judgments warmth of day.
Could she hear the beating of my heart?
Does it feel my suns desire…
my hunger?
Can it perceive my no regret?
The shade it hides my very soul.
He holds it up to me around me
like a hot burning coal.
He never sees.
She looks at him, but it can never be.
Pushing out the bottom,
it extends outside his tree.
When he carried them out and up,
she sees it vibrating, alive a true craftsmen.
It is sculpted as if it were a work of art.
Her unstable hands,
hands that shake as I look fixedly on to his perfection.
Almost as if it were possible that I had requested it.
My only Number.
I do not request any more.
He reaches underneath it.
She observes.
It unclasps a work of bronze.
Would I survive
being Crazed a silk dripping stick of purgatory.
Dare I the risk;
Could I handle this commitment
to the end of time and back and
retain its impertinence?
My hands become now fists.
My river widens with this tragedy of it's perfection.
Imported Glass,
which is different he does not close it.
This perfect form would I owe,
my life's allowance
to his only being, only mine.
She slips her fingers just below the sill.
She observes it and it shows.
She relives the bottom halve and it flows.
Once clear my covers 'S'outhern humid pace.
How can she carry out this Hellenistic exploit
which would massacre all the men long immortal?
By which fine line do I dare fix my glance
on the pure cutting of his thighs or his lean hips?
Can I support them during or would i break so freely
and fall, upon the earthen floor?
Pale the moon it's light.
I look at the supreme perfection of his form.
It is my whole and I am, and always will be,
his night time shade.
With it, I am nothing. It's silhouette.
He is mine to observe.
It takes the hand I have offered.
Could He hear the beat of my heart?
Does he feel my hearts desire…
her hunger?
Can I perceive his all regrets?
As the windows drawn and closed untidy tomorrow.