I cannot write a poem too complex,
or else it will, like you, hide its gentleness.
Then no one would know about the time
I sank quietly to the floor and cried,
and how from across the room you
with equal silence moved
close and down at my side.
How you leaned your head against mine.
And wordlessly we pressed
into a folded sign of tenderness.

Anne M. Carpenter

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