I want to see the thoughts
you breathe,
hear your words and collect them,
cradled in your honesty.
I could watch the beauty in your eyes
for eternity
without ever wishing
to walk away.  

You give me your hand
and I close my eyes,
hear the whisper of the sea
and I remember how my heart
has searched for one
such as you
knowing I have found my home.

My love,
the world could dance
on the shells of their falsehood
with words
written in beautiful calligraphy
and your words
would continue to run in my veins
like Morse code
tapping out who I am
to me.

You fill my hope chest with your spirit
lifting my head
from the table of where my mind wanders
when I forget
to stop and smell the roses along the way.
Your words
bring precious harmony
into play.

I look through the window of my heart
where you
have pressed your lips
on a photograph of your words
and I feel you as soft touches
on my soul.
 I collect them one by one
to remember,
until you again I hold.

Trite query from pen so weary
My muse has blown a fuse
The light that once shined has declined
My fleeting hope hangs from a rope
A vagabond whose muse did abscond
With illuminating spark leaving him in the dark
Out on a lark; my scuttled engine in park
Night and day I recon the lexicon
But the literary discourse is no recourse
To a stray itinerate who has lost his way
The stye in my eye has begun to cry
The pus is no fuss; my page is dry
A rhyme for a dime would be sublime
Perhaps, a bartered verse in my purse
Will break the curse, or still worse
Might stain with shame my languishing pain
Incarcerating my fraudulent pen in the critic's den
Oh, if words would rain then my brain drain
Would filter inspiration to my perspiration
The fertile strain if only but a grain
Would fertile sprouts shoot extinguishing my doubts