closest to the truth

for andrea

there is this brightly colored ball of rubber bands
this spinning cycling undertow
that churns with wankel engine smoothness
this weave and warp of weeds and vines
growing up through the trellises
we screwed to the wall of the garage

there are these perfect silent hands
moving slowly side to side
smoothing out the seams
moving the rocks around in the stream
until the water sounds are music
these furtive fingers massaging the pulses
in the space beneath my temples

there are these delicate scratches in the hardwood floor
from triple step
twists and turns
and other lines living on my back
where your fingernails traced the voltage of my skin

there is the single solid twitch you make
as you fall asleep at night
and the pillow with the silver fringe
that you hold between your legs

there is this unformed embryo of something
that you might find
if you deconstructed me
saw through the tangled metaphors
untied the semantic strands that i have been hoarding
like coupons and crusts of bread

or closest to the truth
it might be a piece of stone
i sometimes confuse with my heart
a piece of jade
i have polished into the shape of an egg
with this golden tongue

and i am offering it to you
hoping you might have the perfect place
to hide it.