not a rose

not a rose i am not a rose from an epoch of yours to be pressed in the leaves of a book. if blind to what i covet put your hands on my body, read me. if deaf to my speech, let my kisses make it explicit. if mute, unable to utter words for which i cry, gently touch my lips with yours. if unable to traverse the path to me, i will come to you. ©tlp 2010