You glance upon my skin, to see that it's covered in holes,
and compare them sweetly to only freckles and moles.
But what no one understands is they tunnel straight down to my soul,
and no one realizes the worth of gold in a world of coal.

do not hold
hands that do not fear
losing yours.

We stand as one in beauty
at the ending of the day.
In warm and tender loving
spend the night.

But I greet the dawn with sadness
and an aching in my heart
for when breakfast’s done. my darling,
we must part.

23rd March 2017

A  stiff  breeze
blowing  the  cherry  blossoms  away.
Petals  floating  into  space
like  tiny  butterflies.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2017.

your ears may never be again
the shore kissed by the waves
born from pages your fingers stroked
slow and gentle, nestled in the tender
warmth of your lover’s hand.

still, a thought of you precipitates
like soft falling rain gathering into a stream
for pages ****** and naked
as you once were, and waiting
for words to find their shape
like how you once traced and claimed
my own in the dark

your ears may never be again
the shore waiting to be kissed
by these new waves born from streams
flowing together in my lengthening nights and days
still, everything as it must be and still is

for even after us this still remains:
the afterstory of how i ache for you
with an emptiness equal to your silence.