There is

a perfect

buried treasure

in your

eyes,



and the

whispers of

mischief dancing

on your

lips.



you have

seen much

witnessed

more.



Your words

drip heavy

with regret

in something

other things

maybe not,



but I

will never

be one

of your

sorrows or

bottom holed

disappointments



for I will

always reach

to lift

your heart

anticipate your

silence

and then

just sit

like a

monk and

listen

and feel

your voice

fall over

me.



and when

you need

to be held

I will

hold you.



with the a

prayer that

I will never

have to

let you go..

Crinkled smiles,

leftover

******* jacks

buried deep

between my

couch"s

hot leather

cushions.


sticky fingers,

still moistened

from safari

adventures

from head

to toes.


chests rising

trying to

find balance

by taking in

big gulps

of air..


making love

with you

spontaneously

again and

again

on a sunday

afternoon.


is like going

to the

circus when

I was a child

.
big tops,

lots of goodies.

wild animals

dancing..

and carnival rides

that take

my breath

away.......

The dumb

bird sits

and sways

on it's

splintered

wooden bar

and sings.,


one song

one voice

over and

over again.


like a

prisoner

sentenced

somewhere

between

5-10.


parole not

an option

newspapers

and seed

cuisine


a blessing.


and by

some miracle

we share

the same

love life,


looking

out at the

world

between

bars with

no Walter

mitty in

our souls.


he has

no excuse

to this

evenings

night and

stars.


and I will

just wake

up one

morning

and find

him dead.


and envy

the dumb

bird

who never

learned


to fly.

I could

sit and

watch you

write for

hours,


bring you

glasses

of deep

red wine

and swim

in your

laughter and

dance with

the harvest

moon.


memorize the

curl of

your smile

the soft wave

of your

tangled angel

hair as

you sit.


to listen

to your

golden words

of love

and hope

and dreams

that go

beyond the

sky.


to be in

a daily conversation

with you

would

be the

dream of

what fairy tales

are made of.


to listen

to your

heartbeat

and strain

to give you

a glimpse

of mine.


only in

these quiet

moments would

I know you

best.


tell me

your stories

and I will

tell you

mine.


and you will

be the keeper

of everything

beautiful

in my life

and I

in yours.


from the first

poem I

read of

yours.


I felt it.


you put

a pearl

in my

heart


to grow.

A last

surrendered

slumber

in your

eyes

reaches out

to the night,


and all

the stars

in heaven

come to

rest over

you.


and I

come to

sit and

applaud

everything

that is

you,


and all

of the

wishes that

you keep.

and what is

to become

of your

midnight

thoughts

of wonder,


the skipping

and jumping

of calico

cats over

the moon.


as I

wish and hope

for your

joys and

tribulations

of faith.


tell me

your stories,


trust me with

your words

untethered,


let your

heart

be a

full flown

kite in

the sky.


stay here

where children

laugh and

poets cry,


and tomorrow

is a moment,


that we

hope will

never come.

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.

Bless the

time between

the loves

each of

us has

seen,



like little

windows peeking

into our

adolescent souls.



thousand miles

apart I am still

certain in

different times

in our lives

we dreamt the

same dreams

that we

held love

as a partner

tight under

blankets of

lust and

passion in

the same

light.



And in

that way

we were

partners too.



wishing upon

the same

stars kneeling

to the same

moon.



holding love

tight with

all of our

might.



somewhere

between wayward

dreams,



where we

cried all of

our tears,

and embraced

all of our

joys.



and you

were a

picture in

my heart



that I

knew I

would never

meet,



but somehow

I knew

in the

thousand

nights to

whisper.



yes I love

you too.