“To Her” by Christopher Franke


I hollow out a place for you in me

When you pass through my mind led by my thought,
A hand that takes you into hand to see,
Naked before the blood's secret eye caught.
The prisoner of backwardness, I am

To forwardness disposed, by too wrought gland,
Of my unnecessary need on the lam

From the prim prick that grinds my heart to sand.
Under the cover of my eye lids you
Come a lover to bed my hollowness
Knocking up against the visions that do

You disservices in my shallowness.
Over thoughts that knowing is love, I lie
Under the manhood of fears, she makes shy.