Soft Cotton

Today, I envisioned her for the first time…with older eyes.

As though I had been staring at the sun far too long.

Sight dusted by light…a slow fade to dusk.

Her smile…mild and pleasant like twilight on a warm summer’s day.

Gracing and caressing…gently strong.

When night falls, the darkness becomes my love…soft cotton flannel for the dim skies so long.

My Dear Drew

I found Dear Drew in a book of Lovely Bones.

A little note from someone to someone else.

A small parched card about not wanting to be alone.

With the challenges of late…

getting old

being less bold

omitting love items that were once owned but now gone.

I found Dear Drew in a book of Lovely Bones.

It told me…

Every morning is a burst of sunshine on my heart to see you next to me.

Your beautiful eyes, the last thing I see at night-fills me with perfect peace.

The touch of your skin.

The smell of your neck.

The taste of your lips.

The feel of your hugs:

Make my throat catch, my breath stops for a moment of recognition.

And, pure happiness sets in.

Thank you for how wonderful you have been.

You Are My Shade

In the dancing shade of the morning pines
I go searching for her spirit.
Year upon years, this is my choice, by design.
Year upon years, full knowing her shine is something I will never find.

In the oddest of manner, her actions remind me of mother and her nature.
How an awkward summer breeze can bring the charm of relief.
With her hands flat against a wall,
cynically…always leery of the fall.

It is in her purposeful silence that she makes the greatest remark of all.
Arms wide open, her innocence so green.
Having sustained an ocean of gray…
Seemingly born to jump the waves.

These morning thoughts cannot be introduced to anyone but myself.
It is in her rare laugh that I, too, shine.
I am weathered with its glow.
Such as the unavoidable seasons.
In her earthy silent remarks…it is there I find reason.

Fancy Kisses

If I had made this bed alone

There would be no scent of baby powder and spice.

There would be no looking both ways.

I would not have learned to roll the dice…twice.

If I had made this house, cedar and stain, log cabin frame, without its dame…I would still be dwelling in discord’s refrain.

In the morning, between the static and the reprieve, when it is easy to not believe…I ponder such vacant thoughts.

After all you have made me a vagabond to your ways.

Through routine I am grounded in the games we play.

Had I made this bed alone

pillows, solitary and too crisp.

I would have never fancied your kiss.