The storm

tires into

the blackest

night ,



like a child

held up

way past

his evening's

hour,



And the

window pane

catches  the

lost souls

of fallen

raindrops

upon it's

slippery face,



the nomad

existence of

wayward

dreams,



hoping

to find the

bounty of

your smile,



the tenderest

of moments

in your

eyes,



and the

quiet place

within your

arms

safe and

nurturing

light.



endless thoughts

given and taken

sonnets of

hopes and

amazement

found here

in your eyes.



and the

questions answered

by the

who you

are what

you share

and what you

willingly give.



you a traveler

of hearts

me the

gentle

soul on

the window

paine who

reaches

for you.



and nothing

in this

moment

could ever

be more

when the



two drops

of rain

become one,



and the

Heavens

above kiss

us with

with evening

grace.