This man upon whose face I have yet to gaze
Blew into the wind
A seed which has taken root and spread unto my soul
So that now the mere thought of him causes my blood to flow
His essences the branches which climb the trunk of my being
But in being apart I find the branches break much like that of a broken heart
And yet…..and yet the bark becomes my shield and I am stronger
I know I shall pass this storm of waiting, breathless and spent
while blooms continue to blossom and sprout
With a pressed and filling light, empty no longer ~M