The streets, the lights and all that passes by
The smiles, the grimace and everything nice
The countenace everytime you say "hi!"
And pantomine the words, the least you could try
You figured to start the day knowing lots to bear
Sorrounded by these, are you satisfied with your care?

When the sun's rays warmth you sorely
And the breeze of the wind is way-out indifferent
The day is halfway to its surcease
And the battleground is becoming at peace
Amidst all these, is the clearing of the sky and it's becoming fair
Wind up all the details through breathing pristine air

The rush hour pass as you revert to your haven
And there it is your great comfort
Lethargic you contemplate and wander
Before the window to your soul closes and rest
You bethink notions and all the things that matter
Endgame is, are you satisfied with your care?

except,
when the old eyes tear, with the greatest of ease,

hitched a planetary ride round the sun, more times
to know that the square root of the human is not
his exterior, which without fail, grows and erodes
on a timed schedule not of his own choosing...

but the mystery that never ages, the arousal of
his base metals, when the women looks upon him
with a intriguing askance, tasking a masking of an
invitational challenge, a whimsy expression of hither

confusion is the reigning ruler, mining for her actual
intentions, the push~pull of her contradictions and
her puzzling diction, impossible to interpret until I
admit, jingle jangle woman, I'll come following you

this is a familiar newness, a fresh candle lit for burning,
and every time is the first time, so there you have it,
I'm no ******, but born renewed, when the heated heart
quavers, with the anticipation of the known unknowns

and the old tears free falling, she finds its puzzling,
even troubling, till she grasps my smiling countenace,
and my head, two~handed embraced as she studies my line~age,
my map of wrinkled experiences that whisper yes, I understand

and she kisses my forehead, acknowledging acceptance that our
paths have never until now crossed, what a delightful surprise
will be the reading of a unexplored map of our conjoined palms,
the greatest wonder be that surprise has not died, and I

with one hand waving free, welcome it all, and she grins at my
exuberant silliness, and that we choose to be with each other, on
a treasure hunt for a poem as of yet unwritten, but so so wonderfull
comforting that its mere outline and its composition~completionition

familiarity speaks of the good things that experience has brought
and now, again, will yet bend time to our wills and what fun that
will be, defying odds, reliving new moments unique, hot created,
and this adventure reinstills the awe of wonder at familiar unknowns

*that early morn smell of
buttered brioche  bread,  
fresh, virginal,
like the  sweat
we have shed
and laughs we,
just baked this
day