Receiving Wind

Nothing
could have prepared
me for the beauty
of ten thousand winds
moving through
your face. No
words can chase
the running
musculature
of your electricity,
or the flash that flies
the parentheses
of your slightest grin
to mine, or the pride
of your chin.

And how
your eyes from tender
wide to hunger
thin disarm, unfurl me.
Here, take my arms,
make them
four. I would open
every door
for you at once
just to watch
your face walk
through, beyond
and always, always
to me, wind
receiving wind.