"Hands"
©1998 by Spring

A matrix of crossed spokes.
Hands not far from curved rims.
Grey metal forms the boundaries between you and me.
Some imagined and some very real.
Will you cross and dare to do what few have done?

Oh God.......
     to feel your lips on the nape of my neck,
     to feel your hands cup my breasts.

Will we ever know what we fear to dream!