Your legs are long as moments
spent in your company.
Your hair is longer than promises
I made to you in the
dead of night that I
would not be dead at night.
You are a painting
looking into a mirror
and failing to appreciate the work of art
as a reflection.
You complain that your
lips are warm and your hands are cold
but I tell you that time heals
all transgressions.
There's a dreamer in your ear and a
lover in your eye and a writer in your heart and a speaker in your neck and a leader in your heart and a Good Samaritan in your gut and a winner in your legs and a teddy bear in your hand.
Conversations with you are the scenic route.
Kindness from you is a gift
for the present and a memory
for the future you try to ensure.
I owe you.