And I know;
That in the brisk, dewy mornings
And the late evening hours,
Just in the cusp between day and night,
I'll look back.
A gentle smile on my lips,
A slight dampening of my eyes,
Back once more, to these honeysuckle memories.

Such tender moments and remarkable company,
The remembrance sickeningly sweet at times.
As phenomenal as they are in their occurrences,
I know the aftereffects will be much more grand.

I am your poet --
I write your name on my heart
and our memories on my pages.

I write about my doubts,
my maybe's, what if's
and whereabouts
of you; and only you.

I write about my mistakes and yours --
our past, present, supposed future;
and how I love you the most.

I write about our debates --
the shouting and crying like
a wildfire sprawled across the bed.

I write about our first date --
when we dress up so nicely
and danced all night.

I write about our first kiss --
the push and pull of our lips;
and the warmth of our breathing.

I write about the way we talk --
the sweetest and most painful sound
uttered against the wind by the heart.

I write about your heartbeat --
the way it speaks to me,
and how it says my name joyfully.

I write about your face, your body,
the sound, noise, and joy;
and how we make love endlessly.

I am your poet --
I write about our unending love
that ends on my pages.