I am the Queen of small spaces--
one ripe plum on a clean white counter,
a single filigreed chair,
and August moonlight for my hair--
these are all I claim.
One night, near the end of Summer,
I filled a vase with love poems folded from crimson blooms.
Verbal as a Saimese,
and aching for your slightest touch,
I put on the soft black shoes of my persistent, hopeless desire,
to come haunting your door at dawn, offering you everything--
all I have.