I've lost myself
in you
but much prefer the me
that grew.

We've never met, but can I hold your hand?
Can our fingers intertwine? Can we place our toes in the sand?
Can I strum my guitar as you smile and listen?
Can I look into your eyes, see your heart with my vision?
Can I kiss you slow? As we both get lifted into space?
Can I tickle your forearm slowly as your hand gently touches my face?
Create a first date..the burn from the candle lights as desire starts to dim
As I hear her pretty voice, as I feel her passion from within
We've never met, but the idea of love seems to linger
The potential of my imagination..the thought of a ring on her finger.
We've never met, but I think about watching you leave and me starting to miss you
When you start to cry, my sleeves are your tissue,
Help you feel real affection
Help me get through all I've been through.
We've never met. We've never gave it a try
Why do I still want to meet you than?
Why do I feel these feelings?
We've never met, so why do I feel like our possibilities died? Why?
(I hope to see you soon.)

I hope she was worth
The pain you put me through
I hope she can hold you closer
Than when I wrapped my soul around you
I hope she can make you smile brighter
Than when I made you laugh
I hope she can sing to you sweeter
Than when I sung your name
I hope her words have more meaning
Than when I said “I love you - always and forever”
I hope that she never makes you feel pain
The way you claim I made you endure
I hope when you see her –
She’s all that you want to see
I hope she was worth it
I hope she was worth all the tears
That I shed for you
After you left me for her

I witnessed the calf's first steps
On matchstick legs.
Mother's tongue towel;
A giant of love and pride.
There was poetry inside.

I've seen deaf lovers gesticulate a
Love story across a room full
Of walls of noise and chatter.
Like smugglers they would hide,
Sneaking poetry inside.

I've seen old mothers stand,
Back straight, denying war
Machinery access.
A protective circle of lives,
Around the
Poetry inside.

I've poked at something
Dead in a ditch
With a stick just to look at the
Maggots and bugs
Couldn't help it though I tried;
There was poetry inside.

I traced her face with mine,
I gazed into
Her spacious eyes as we'd
Unite and move together
And that warmth could not have lied;
There was poetry inside.

Each thing a gallery, that's how I see
The world -as if I read it-
Which I swear by and abide:
It is glaced with art and colour;
It has poetry inside.