Love Poem

I have always written love poems, and often keep them hidden, only to be revealed to a few individuals who will not think me oldschool and unsophisticated for writing them. I'm deciding not to hide this one, as I just put it together (within the last ten minutes or so), and it has really captured something I have felt. I'm hoping that some of you can relate to it, or feel it in some way. I also hope that when I wake up tomorrow morning and re-read it, I'm not embarrassed for having posted it, as I often am with my own work.

A Joining

I do not need to touch you--
but near you my ribs open and stretch like tree
hands, lobed fingers walking for sky--
not to take, no, but to comb the clouds to say:
Here, my leaf, here, your pilling white.
I run my finger down your nose
like a slow sliding capsule of rain and watch
your eyes draw down like distant thunder,
your mouth the burnt, parting earth.
It is a sharing, yes, a swollen lung
bonding us, of which we someday say
delicate and trembling: we.
And this is the word for it always--
not the taking or giving or even knowing.
The word makes its breath in the slow of one
motion--a joining, my finger now homed
in the valley of your neck.