I could ascribe to you few things.
Few metaphors represent your wondrous making.

If I were to compare you to the roaring waves,
far reaching sourced from still ocean depths,
like the conviction of your voice,
I would miss your true joy at growing from fault.

If I were to compare you to the setting sun,
sharing the glory of its day on painted sky,
like the skill of your hand,
I would miss the grounded feet with which you walk

If I were to compare you to the intricacies of a watch,
it’s beautiful movement formed by delicate layers,
like the way you put one foot in front of the other,
I would miss your collaborative tick.

If I do not tell you how wonderful you are I will miss you. If I do not listen to your dream then it will sour the sleep. If I do not shout I will miss your echo.

I hope to soon rid any other miss* from this paper,
as our Ruler has more notches for us to mature.
Now I will be happy right here, sitting across from,
lying next to, on the other side of your screen.

You say before the moon last stood, that you understood. Take air down lungs to seek the life of one known.

Seen from a distance no greater than finger to thumb. No greater then eyes or ears.

I prefer the surface, with you.

Tonight I realized
I wouldn’t hear your voice again

Your tongue will speak but
It’s heart shall be of another

There will be no more familiarity
No backdoors to my soul

All because of a choice
First of yours, now mine

I must choose
To avoid temptation
Keeping my door shut
And avoid standing by yours

There is more that I feel
But I won’t deposit more in you

Not you