Moving Day

"How do you do it?"
my friends ask.
"Not let your eyes wander?
Not let your heart flutter
at a passerby?"
"Well, there is no one," I say
"No one who moves me
in that way."

As hope comes crashing in now,
and pieces of truth
lay sparkling all around,
I must barter with God
for two new eyes.

I must ask myself (not you)
who you are.
My head will say
(and rightly so)
you are my closest companion.
my heart will say
(and rightly so)
you are my favorite friend.

But the electricity in my skin,
the white hot heat in my chest,
my breath, as it escapes me,
all say something else entirely.

Now I am aware
that my body has always
floated towards yours.
Consciously, repeatedly,
I've pulled myself away
to sit in a chair
across the room
from you.

And when seeing you
but not having you
has been too much for me,
My body has revolted
with the pains and wrenches
of what old wives
will say is the sickness
of love.

On this day
as my mind reveals finally
what my body has been telling me
all these years,
I must say as Blake would
(body and soul aligned):
You are the only one
who has ever moved me.