Hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach.
******* surround me and send me into a rage.
Lonesome soul sinking in the mire.
Too tired to fight, I might need a drink.

If not for you where would I be today?
Most likely dead or on some distant shore.
Your love does not drift like the ocean waves.
It stays close to my heart, I can't ask for more.
Your skin So Soft like velvet on my tongue.
Your orchid, sublime, responds to every kiss.
To my ears your heart beats like a song.
If I never met you my life would be amiss.
But now we build the future bold and brave.
There is no fear when I am in your arms.
The ***** is gone and I'm no longer a slave.
My soul is not in a state of alarm.
Your breath is like the wind on barren land.
I swear to you I'll always be your man.

One should bleed in order to get a sense of touch

A shiny stone washed up onto a beach
So easy to discover and enjoy.
A crystal hewn from deepest mine
So valuable but hard to win.
I think I’ll choose the sea-washed stone
And leave the digging to the miners.
                ljm

Our road has not been straight, my love.
It has not been an easy journey.
Our path was filled with barriers
And led through lands of many dangers.

Sometimes our shoes grew worn and thin
From trudging through the obstacles
And it would have been much easier
To stumble to our knees and fall.

But one of us was always strong
When the other’s strength diminished
Though there were times we could have quit
We clambered up and moved along.

We now float calmly in still waters
Knowing that our craft is strong
As we at last enjoy the sunsets
And listen to the nightbird’s song.
  ljm

Ebony birds with damaged wings
Fling themselves
Towards the darkened clouds
And find no draft to lift them.
Screeching in despairing cries
They slowly circle back to earth.

Second verse of same sad song
Echoes and reminders catch the light.
Unexpected findings ring the bell
That calls to life the waterfall.
Help is proffered by empty hands
To heartstrings that no longer tug.

And the clock goes round and round
And the Sun goes up and down
And the Moon grows somehow dim
On a path that only circles back
Into a room that has no door.
I’m home again, it seems.
ljm

I’m FaceTiming with my Grandmère, we touch-base once a week. I love that face, wrinkled, like wind-weathered driftwood, and she’s a wag.
“Are you familiar with the ECB?” She asks.

I wince at this odd turn in conversation, “Not REALLY,” I say, searching my mental index of useless facts and cross-matching those with her interests, “the European Central Bank?” I reply. “Oui.” she says.

“Let’s see,” I begin in a bored voice, “Inflation – transitory or persistent?” I say, in my best TV news-reader voice. “No,” I chuckle, “Not really, I have REAL, boring-things I’m learning about.”

“You’ll need to - one day,” she says, like a tarot reading oracle.

“I can’t imagine why.” I said.

“I’m writing a few sentences about you!” I interject, to both change the subject and see what she says. She’s the only one in the family who knows I write.

“Oh,” she sighs, “Am I young, immoral and reckless?”

“Yes, you ARE,” I assure her, “you’re the worst.”

“Good," she confides, “I miss those days.”