With Whitman's Words

What words will come then
if the latch is undone?
Since I have touched you,
your skin,
each curve
and bend
and loved it all?

Upturn the hourglass
and dance
backwards?
Act as if I am shy
and unsure,
untouched
by your
familiar ways?

Shall I say in a whisper --
in hushed,
half-tones
bathed
in mediocrity
that the crisp whiteness
of your shirt
impresses me?

And though I have known you
as I have known myself,
am I to greet you
like a new neighbor
trading pleasant afternoons?

Or shall I take the pace
of this pounding heart,
making broad declarations
with Whitman's words?

Yes, I shall borrow boldness
from Browning's depth.
Take desire
from her fire --
gesturing grandly
to parallel a passion
red as a setting summer sun.

Sweetheart, I cannot
reverse time,
rewind,
act as though
I do not know
your sleepy
deep voice,
your eyes
shining
in the darkness.