A story of... Oh my!

Shall it start with I
and run across time?

Will it tell about sighs
and losses of sight?

Could it draw upon the tide
of a thirst that will not die?

Let it borrow instead your eyes,
let it not be told starting with I

for, into this story, adrift of present day,
strayed from the hearted I,

left to the sparse foam of time,
only dids and didn'ts will pour, no whys.

Seems so long ago...

       That our rings, almost dropped from your nervous hands, would have washed out into the Caribbean to be a sparkling reminder of our love at the bottom of the ocean where now only your spirit can roam.

Happy Four Years, Jeremiah.

Give me a man with a beard and tattoos
a passion for books and a love of the blues,
a sharp sense of humour, his outlook carefree
and a belly that jiggles, no six packs for me. 

Give me a man who can't help but sing,
who sees beauty in raindrops and other such things,
one that laughs at my faults and excites at my plans
one that's proud to tell everyone that he's my man.

Then I'll give him a woman that smiles oh so proudly
and proclaims love undying from rooftops, quite loudly
I'd take care of him as he takes care of me
a happier duo you never will see.

Send him my way tightly wrapped in a bow,
I'll handle with care and unwrap nice and slow
this gift from the heavens sent here from above,
then I'll drag him upstairs and near **** him with love.