33. taj mahal

I have never given myself

such a large allowance of love,
instead guarding it–

tender, in small boxes.

But let me
bathe your feet in sweet milk,
golden toes striking against marble;
let me

scrawl it in the stars,
let me
pour oil in warm pitchers over your head,
kiss your fingers to my lips

like plucked harp strings,
rippled water.
They will come
from far-flung continents
to see it,

the love so enormous
it could not be carried
by a thousand elephants.

Let them tell the stories for centuries,
of the marigolds, the moon.


One thought on “33. taj mahal

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s