My cousin wrote of Crowded Streets;
The “struggling tides of life” within.
He spoke of death, life’s toils, feats;
The loss of youth, malaise, chagrin.

I write of love and light, our tale;
But pain and darkness is not spared.
Against the good they simply pale;
Our value grand -- so rightly paired.

We came in broken, lost our way;
Succumbed to pressures so severe.
But don’t lose sight of how we’d lay;
So close, sweet, and intimate; dear.

Fires forge the strongest steel;
Without adversity -- no gain.
The trials we faced, still we feel;
Love for each other, fresh as rain.

No pressure here, I am your friend;
That fierce loyalty has no price.
My trust in you will never bend;
I need your voice and calm advice.

I guess I hope for a fresh start;
Without any burdens or weight.
As far as body, mind, and heart;
They are free, yours, assigned no fate.

We ARE intimate, that’s not prose;
Not “were”, I thought I’d give you space.
I miss your eyes, lips, crinkled nose;
We are those threads, we make that lace.

It’s our story, it’s worth a write;
And so much has yet to un-fold.
Tales of us should be given flight;
We should, if I may be so bold.

But hear me well, I’ll mince no word;
I miss you more than you can know.
You are my star, my little bird;
It’s not mere talk, I want to show.

So think about a little leap;
Not unhealthy, wrong, or bad.
Just all our good, no mission creep;
Elevate happy -- dilute sad.

Revenge is sweet, for pain it’s grease;
Breaks frozen feelings loose and free.
But so is closeness, love and peace;
And we can have that, you and me.