And with each passing day
I miss your structured face,
Steamy eyes,
And your subtle grace.

And with each summer breeze
I miss the way your hand feels
And the way you used to let me trace your palms.
How you used to stare at me
For just a little too long.

Missing you is constant now.
I always wish you were here.
When I miss kissing your cheek
And whispering in your ear.

Nothing is the same.
Not anymore
I wished for one thing,
Just being yours.

Like no other, it cares
Not always seen, but always there.
Complimenting words as if they were looks,
Such a great way with words, they belong in books.
Expressing their love and woe,
Though often cursed by crows.

A thousand miles or a couple feet
Something great happens when two writers meet.
They talk and talk, pretending they don't know
The secrets that their stories both told.
As they speak, they are mesmerized by how words dance out
Of each others soft spoken, but sometimes harshly written, mouths.

They hope they can memorize how words were said,
So that they could recite each others poems in their own head.
A writer's affection is like no other
And one complex talent, keeps it all together.
It will write you letters, and cause a drumming chest.
Take your breath away, and rid you of a mind's mess.

A letter for him, a letter for her.
A Writer's Affection,
a blessing and more.