If an artists placed intent
Found or fell upon me previous

If that moment were the muse
Talented articulating digits
Any shade pencil and finest stock
Would not draw me then in colors

If that artisan waited, watched
The angel apparition's arrival
The grey and paper composition
Bleeds anew, colors washing through

That day we met
That vibrant yellow hue
Was hope

So long had I none in me
Felt not, endlessly

Upon my eyes you fell
My heart, when you spoke sang
Your gentle voice an ivory white
Brilliant and feather light floating

Such color in a life unattended
Such contrast as to balance
My love struck eyes knew
That I must not lose such sight

That artists drawing
Was of me previous
To the moment I met you.

I am faceless here
As is she, and him
Them, yes
Faceless as well.

Safe.

We've all arrived
In this place
Of written introductions
Contemplating, pondering
perusing, as we like
Inner workings
and frustrations
Laced in subtle sums
to soundless the equivalent
Like Shouting
or crying out

Need driving every one
Of we the authors,
The critics, or
the fans unknown

We contribute at leisure
Following kindred
and awe-inspiring gifted
We are Meeting
through simple likes

Those of us
The frequent sorts
I find, you may
or may not
Agree as I do
Feel that we meet
the writer
Faceless as we are
these similar others
On personal hidden levels
Not shown to the world
Of faced people,
of the sources
That spur some
words to come
I meet amazing people
Through this magic
of language
And to they, to you all

thank you.

the soundless, falling,  opaque rain
Adds through it's subtraction,
Facing away, when skeletons are out
I chase, to save though you play
Having had, tasted the forbidden
In and of the real form of you, of once
Beneath a front of love, white lies,
Not so little as the fixed smile
Not so honest as the bones of you

Two so lost
Broken
Each a little
Too much
In love true
But not enough
To fix us together
Apart I can fix me
Apart you can fix you
Love was not enough.