Woman,

     You ask that I write you a poem everyday that you are away from me. I willingly spill the words from my soul, I sacrifice myself and fall upon the sword of the pen, the drops of blood like rain from God. And they fall to paper, all that I am, all that I hope to become within you, in a poem to you, at the moment so far away.
       Today, alas I have spilled so much of myself that I too require a filling, a need that sustains me like my words that feed your passion for me. I need the touch of your hand as we sit upon the portico resting on that sunset purple gold, that which lights the stars when darkness falls.
       I need the soft of your lips as they graze the nape of my neck, the stride like a galant mare across fields of shimmering lilies, I need the kiss which fits me like gloves in the cold depths of morning one feels as they take in the first chill of morn.
      I need you like a poet needs words, I need your depths that fill the abyss like the blood fills the body, or the lover fills the woman, oh this wanton desire for the touch, the kiss, the experience of being with you.....
      These are my words, these are my sonnets of infiltration to your soul, a haiku of touch, a verse of making love!
     My love all that is poetry is required by your presence. Simply put, the motions of our love.....that which must be experienced,
       we are the poetry in motion.

               Missing you dearly,
    
             The poet who lost his words.