The poet stands, bending over a piece of his writing, next to his wife
musing, not writing any longer.

His wife, in both appearance and mind much stronger than him,
shares his glance and dares
to let her eyes dance right across his naked lines.

He feels her breath next to his shoulder, on his skin,
remembers how, when growing older, you start to be
content with less.

So now, she finally adresses him:
Are you writing about me?

He frowns, something he rarely does, takes a deep breath
and, quietly bereft of his most personal emotion, starts to smile.

You know, he anwers, with a slight shiver in his voice,
I'd rather you asked something else. I'd rather-
but he has no choice, is forced to speak, at last.

His wife, slightly intrigued, demands: elaborate!
Two hands are raised to shape the air, create a space
and place an invisible heart
inside its core.

Look here, he speaks, this is my work,
and indicating this he gestures wildly
while his wife remains disquiet, though now
she sees, thus smiling mildly, what he is getting at.

And in the middle, this is you
as if -
now he does not allow his voice to drift
as if my poetry evolves -
But he stops dead and sees
a clear image inside his spinning head:

He concentrates, takes a step back -
and reaches for his woman's face,
places his palms on her red cheeks, one side each,
and begins to speak anew:

*If I had ever written just a single line about you, dear,
I shall be ******.
I won't let false words touch you!
Let me explain:

It is the other way around!
All pieces and all lines and words have once
belonged to you, and now emerge
from your sweet face!

I am now well prepared just to erase
all of my poetry,
for all of it I will find then again,
anew,
in your kind heart,
in you.

I wish I could have kept that childhood wonder
where every day was something new
scary and exciting
unfolding journeys to behold
growing into eerie feelings and emotions
that weren't there before
but then adulthood comes
with responsibilities
and they smash you over the head with redundancy
shackle you with currency.
and we are abruptly awakened from all those dreams.

You are a figment of my imagination.
Yet I know you.
I've fantasized about your smile, your scent, your touch.
Its pure fascination.

I see you in my dreams at night.
Lights out but bright inside my mind.
Thoughts of you are endless
I battle my restlessness
Until morning daylight.

Would you feel the same excitement?
That passion, that seduction, I feel inside me.
Open your cage door,
To your confinement.

You lay there and dream about that soulmate.
She screams through your mind.
That song you sing in your head.
It sounds so resonate.

The time is here.
I see her across the room in the crowd.
I squash that fear of not knowing
And scream her name aloud.

I am near her, I am afraid.
Is there mutual attraction.
A quick tender kiss
Its instantaneous.
Then I know its mutual satisfaction.

I had two best friends;
a boy
and a girl
And I talked to them
every day
and I loved them
with all of my heart;
In fact, I loved the boy
with all of my heart
and then some
but he didn't love me back;
why would he?
And so,
when the girl
told me
she liked the boy
I couldn't bear
to tell her
that I too was infatuated
with his laugh
and the sound of his voice
and so,
I told her
that she should date him
(since I clearly never would)
And then
to my surprise
and utter dismay
they did
And I was sad
but I still smiled
when we were in groups
because I still loved them
with all of my heart
However;
the love that I had
for them
was not as strong
as their love for each other
And now
I have two friends;
a boy
and a girl
The boy told me he used to like me
way back when I thought he never would
but it's too late
to fix my stupid mistakes
because now my two friends
talk to each other
every day;
I have not spoken to either
in months
and I sit alone
at home
thinking of what would have happened
(and what could be)
if I had told the boy
that I loved him
with all of my heart
and then some.