Twenty-Three Degrees

i miss you the way lions in North American zoos miss the African savannah
it’s visceral, instinctive, primal
i wish you were here so much i’m not sure which would happen first – a hole worn into the side of my magic lamp or the flesh on my hand rubbed raw to the bone
i cannot simply manipulate digits
to cause you to pour magic into my earlobe
as easily and richly as we can when we are both
in a First World country
if we are the world then i want you to yank my axis true again
and restore the tilt that permits me an ironic view of the universe
for without you i futilely try to plough straight ahead
but in the process lose the reason for seasons
that remind me your diversity and variety is all i need
because of the way you fire my passion i want you here
to help me tip my head to the sun so the summer of my content
can burn as fiercely as the hottest July Toronto day
i wish to wrap you in my orbit and send satellites scattering
and debate with Copernicus and Galileo to determine who truly orbits whom
because your celestial body occupies all the space
my libido will ever need to observe
so stay safe my love as you travel across oceans
and traverse foreign lands as native to you as your tongue
for your mastery of my language of love causes me to
speak with fluency into your soul even when we are continents apart
and in your quiet moments of sated solitude when my muted words quench your parched longings
close your eyes and dream with me
for i am ever in your heart.

© A. Gregory Frankson, 2011. All rights reserved.