affection

Should mine be the grim ungrateful touch to wound

a spirit attuned to romantic visions of man

and wife, surmounting strife (but imprisoned for life)

to count their kiddies on the fingers of both hands?

I stand at a porch viewing an orchard of beautiful

fruit seedlings, pleasing to the eye and tempting

my palate with dreamt up notions of satisfaction.

(My actual tasting is confined to a single tree!)

Freely rubbing shoulders with the bold exponents

of tone-setting trends in fashion, I brashly

suppose that the clothes I might adopt will softly

lift my image to the realm of bright excitement.

If other arms I were not to explore,

I'd never know if love might offer more.