months since last eye writ, your eyes most likely have never crossed mine.  still inhabit the buststops, now called bus shelters though they are not a "shelter in place" place, but a crossroads where the poor and rich, the youthful and the nearer-to-god-than-thee sit bearer nearer to each other when they reside in the equality of the moments that are globally know as
    "waiting for the bus"
or as
     "waiting for Godot".

eyes have seen buses in Rio and Delhi that carried livestock and more humans on the exterior than the interior.  

but mine eyes are in a slow fade away mode, dimming in a final
sun setting  so u are needed.  
give me your bus stories yearning to he free and I will give you
my imagined ones
for are not all bustop poems are imaginary?

Can I take a jump
Into the pool
And surround
Myself
In a aqua hue.

Can I leap gently
And not break
The surface,
And cause
A disturbance
That breaks
The silence.

Can I breathe in
All the water around me;
Soaking it up
Like a sponge,
Diluting my veins
Till I am none.

Can I swim
In your sea
Till a tempest
Drowns me.

did not know her when she was miniskirts and high heels,
before she converted to the one true religion of
poetry & yoga

some stray dog thots raveling in a pack
cross the not-even-6am brain that alternates tween
new day Adam apple crumb crisp and
distracting lascivious Eve ones

I,
would have loved you same back then,
no different than now

I,
write in different styles
under so many pseudonyms,
but it is the same man

I,
who crawls into bed nightly with
great expectations and a list of salutations
to wake you up and commence writing how

I,
love your poetic yoga-toned long legs
snaking between mine
while I imagine them in miniskirts and high heels
which is a long way round of saying

You,
alone, my darling forever young one,
are my
one true religion...

In the fields of loneliness,
my lips touch grace,
my tongue speaks love.

Night time triggers loss,
A stolen kiss disappears into the black of evenings sorrow.

Halted breath.
Staggers heart.
Sweet desire.

In the folds of loneliness,
I wait for morning,
so I can breathe again.

Samira Wyld      #AWyldLoveNote

When I heard another boy whistle
the tune you sang softly in my ear
as we watched Beauty and the Beast ,

When I walked by a pet store
just like the one we like to go to
full of new friends I know you would adore,

When I saw a navy blue cruise
sailing along Le Rhône
just like the one you will go on soon,

I missed you.

It's not all bad
These things made me think of you
and thoughts of you make me so happy

They're just mixed
with a bit of melancholy these days

Because it's been a while since I've seen you
and it will be a while until I do again

But at the very least
I know that I love you
and that you love me
and when we're together again
I'll tell you all about these things
that made me think of you

I can't wait