In a conference once

I saw you-
ducking under the table
and the room froze.
You reached out fingers that I've come to know
outstretched and the fly in midair hangs still.
But I can move
because you make me magic
and I sweep under this wooden desk
to my knees that have been swept under my heels--
And when my fingertips, marked with time, kneed the carpet,
your eyes lift.
Pools of excitement lit perfectly by the lights--
And I'm reminded of the lavender velvet sparkling 
portrait we admired once. 
Crawl to me.
No. Don't.
Stay there; in the frozen room--Captivated
while I crawl to you. 
Crawl to you so you can help me stand.
Stand proud in this unreal world that your hands
and mine have molded like a painter whose taken up clay.
Molding the biggest Vase that will hold one Red Rose.
I'm Thrown. 
I'll let you throw me anywhere.  
To find Red throrns.
To find Red rooms, lips, and apples--Cracked red fingertips.
What I'm trying to get at here --in this room with no noise--
Is that My deep brown hungry eyes have gone to you
every moment of the day, 
And if I could let them crawl to you, 
as you pick up your pen,
I'd kiss you here...In Front Of Them All.