And the

reasons you

wake in

the morning,


and the

first face

that greets

your day.


I would be a

thief and

take these

things from

you.


to be

there the

moment you

awake.


to sit

and have

morning coffee

while you

read to

me your

latest poem.


cinnamon buns

in the oven,

the clamor

of the world

just outside

your door.


and I would be

the poet

who keeps

it all at bay.


and at

night I

would read

the stars

to you.


over and

over  and

over again.