[Love, personified].

grains of sand on your fingertips
(your fingers are getting so long, now)
you turn water into wine
(and we wonder, are you some kind of magician?)
your sandals are covered in dust
(by now, your feet have trod at least a thousand miles)
they say you have no place to lay your head

and i don't know how, but you're getting into me
my veins were clear, but the blood is turning red again (for the first time?)
and that couple on the bus, the #9?
that homeless african-american woman,
her head slumped on the shoulder of the white man next to her,
his chin tilted down until it rested on his chest--

murmurings of peace etched my lips
and i desired to rub their sore shoulders, bent necks, tired skulls
the man awoke for the briefest of moments, called me very beautiful
before his eyes wavered shut again, unable to stave off exhaustion

i don't know how, but you're getting into me.