So much says
a yellow rose
for you. No more
(for

now)
pecks, but long
walks (this
with no one

else) or
possible hugs
around perhaps
hips, clinging

to cotton.

Would you,
if just for a moment,
and the tired world
unfill itself of things, or

love were the simple
all of it, kiss me? Could you
hold all that
inside

yourself?