This man upon whose face I have yet to gaze

Blew into the wind

A seed which has taken root and spread unto my soul

So that now the mere thought of him causes my blood to flow

His essences the branches which climb the trunk of my being  

But in being apart I find the branches break much like that of a broken heart

And yet…..and yet the bark becomes my shield and I am stronger

I know I shall pass this storm of waiting, breathless and spent

while blooms continue to blossom and sprout

With a pressed and filling light, empty no longer ~M