I caught a glance from you within the crowd
and held with mine your eyes surprising long
if looks could be deemed so your eyes were loud
and so by seeing eyes I heard a song.

by this sweet music we two looked and danced
although we never touched or shared a word
oh, this is how the ancestors romanced
they looked and danced and loved to songs unheard.

This history commends you to the bone
so every step we dance moves all of me
and so the crowd might well leave us alone
for they are deaf that see not what I see.

Now senseless they insists it's senseless I
but they know naught that have not seen thy eye.

A lover's task: to give and no to take
To see in eyes what is a heart could need
to grow a garden with the love you make
to tend the place where you have planted seed.
Sweet flowers then will lovers cultivate,
or hardy crops withstanding summer rain
but every living thing runs out its date
the harvest of your love will bring you pain.
and so by days and years we sow our love
then reap a foreign feeling from the ground
this common ground, this dirt fed from above
has nothing left but holes to which we're bound
from love to love we spring but end in dirt
then love again, forgetting last springs hurt.

I wish for her - and wishing's not my wont -
then moments later ween my wish too much.
To see her, hold her hand, is all I want
to wean me of her distant love by touch.
So I must words most tenderly select,
-to woo this wish from her I deem most fair-
write them, speak them, fight them till correct.
Ascendant recitation, be my prayer:
Give me this day, an hour of your time,
forgive me if affection makes me bold,
but tempt me, lead down paths to verse and rhyme
and I'll deliver beauties yet untold.
     Unlock this gated garden of the heart
     and henceforth ever play the muses part.

If you're a plague to me then what's the cure?
or what's the solve that would my symptoms ease?
that you're the cause is sure to me, past sure,
you are in every meaning my disease.
Unless you're poison,that's a different case,
a malady that time cannot undo.
Only antidote can win that race,
so I must find an antidote most true.
They'll farm a snake to take its venom out
make remedy from that which else is death
so if I need a medicine sans doubt
the ingredients are your manner, words and breath.
Then close to you is where I'll find my cure
and close to you my sickness will endure.

Since words have always been my closest friends-
it reasons that they're jealous now of you,
the she whose dear affection never bends
and now controls my heart beat through and through.
Ambassadors they once were to my heart
before you came and turned it inside out,
and though they matched you squarely at the start
they have since then been beaten without doubt.
So then it's little wonder they deny
to strive in constant effort to meet you.
I work them, wear them - pray that they comply
but in the end it seems they never do.
So words my once great love have lost their place
like everything that fails to match your grace.

Oh dear one, give me something I can keep,
let words be ardent messengers of thought,
then yours will be the place twixt wake and sleep,
and once that's true you'll never be forgot.
For now your mind's a window shut and drawn
and I outside can only overhear,
I'll piece together stories till the dawn
though if you'd open up I'd give you ear.
A simple peice of mind is all I ask
and hopefully it's flown up from your heart
let fly the words you've held up in your casque
and once they're in the air you've done your part.
Oh, speak your passions in a conscious stream
and claim the place of peace before a dream.

I ruminate confined in my white room
about what is too much to now confide,
in you, the she who left more than perfume.
Forgive me if these words seem qualified:
It only took one week of sleep by you...
habitualized embracing through a dream.
and now deprived of contact all night through,
tonight is longer than all nights beside you seem.
Despite your sweet suggestions, I can't sleep,
I think a thousand thoughts all at one time-
So, though I need not hours we tried keep,
I'll use them now to write you verse and rhyme.
It seems there's nothing else that I can do,
for while I toss and turn, thoughts turn to you.

It kills me that I can't keep you in words,
The more I write the more I seem to miss.
Like meaning from my pen is far off lured,
I can't put down your smile, your eyes, your kiss.
A kiss that for my life I can't describe,
despite how hard I try or oft I write.
Transform me hence into your willing scribe,
I'll work to make dark ink match your eyes light...
and though I know I'll fail I still write on,
hoping beyond hope that I'll succeed
in writing down some truth before I'm gone,
one truth might then find others and so breed.
Not unlike I found you and you found me
or how our I's met up to forge a we.

No, I've never writ of butterflies-
pretty things that flit about the flowers.
I've often thought to catch so dear a prize,
but then found better use for fleeting hours.
They won't be caught and if caught can't be kept
unless their hunter's more than passing cruel.
So, watch them, watch each flower they've o'er leapt...
then watch their sick pursuers, each a fool.
For if caught, then, what then? Forever trapped?
Those tender wings would break in any hand,
they'll batter 'gainst their bars till will's full sapped.
The corpse of what once flew has no demand.
Hold anything to tightly and it dies,
but no, I've never writ of butterflies.