I Want You Here

So badly my fingertips ache
roses droop against the stones

the green light of the Garonne 
stuns my eyes

I talk to dogs   to my chair
listen at the neighbor’s door

The old stones of the village are too smooth
The stubble of your chin would do 

I want you here so badly
I can taste your salt

I would find a place or two for your mouth
listen hard to your tongue 

we would coo like mad doves
become ballads   legends
	
climb to the centre ville 
devour the first May cherries

pilgrims 
at home in each other

beneath the blue sheet 
of sky.