Mating call

Whom leads whom on stage
to the silence of fear?
Whom does it here,
filling and turning the page?
The musician or his gear?
The poet in me or my sage?

It was not him I thought of
upon seeing animal and divine
as I do in a man and his way sublime,
for like you and this one there is no other.
In my mind and heart it had no name
and maybe, just maybe, it was a sign
to what could fit as well as a glove.

All I know
is that from the moment it let show,
it was never meant to be tame,
but to be beheld as a wonder
as is a woman's heart stripped of shame.

05/01/2020