I see your flower has grown tired
Wilting slightly under your hand's weight,
Time has stretched its pedals,
and moisture left its stem

I see it dreams of youth,
It clings to the memories of the suns drink
Thirsting, it stays dormant
resting,
Under the shade of your palm

I still feel your eyes locked to me
Imprinted, and stained behind the veil of years

More than the memory of  forgotten scents
More than time stacked upon
More than the sun and moon,
Dipping and flipping day after day

You could never know,
As the fading eye's light grows,
and at most trust's
as the chill brushes the cheek

So here, an Ode to you,
Once, more as a toast to the past
Where the light in my fading eyes grows,
and at most trust's
as the chill brushes the cheek

Said "goodbye"
A thousand times
Tears long dried,
And lost in rhyme
Back to think if smoke could see
A blink sowed shut, that memory
But yet you linger,
A haunting float
I've cursed once over,
Once more than most
To accept the blame
A lost love friend
To taste the sour,
Never feeling again

Someday we'll go
One and all, we'll know
Where fall jades meet garden spades
And luster leaves with orange glow

And through your eyes
A resting soul,
At last on these grounds
Where heaven's sold

A pillow for your heart,
And sweater for cold
Casting dreams to the stars,
As our lives unfold

As jade turns to bronze,
And finally bronze to gold,
The *****, laid down
As we lie on a blankets fold

The book will cast meaning,
With ours fingers linked bare,
Someday we'll go
One and all, we'll know

Automatic fingers,
Robust and tracking wild
Ready to fill and flutter with the rush of caffeine
A sip starts a spiral,
A spiral starts a cascade
Of feelings and rapid thoughts, erratic as flies
They tell stories as chicken-scratch letters,
Fragmented, but conjoined,
Portraying tales as slides in an old projector movie
Or an old orchestra of nostalgia
From a set list of what once was,
and certainly no longer is in sight nor sound
A sip starts a spiral,
A spiral starts a cascade
While the morning sun continues to rise

A reflection shows
A face which I chose,
To make-shift grins
and tiny innuendos

But behind the veil,
Lies a face more pale
And oh so much more visceral

Was the eight after the four?
Perhaps the three past the seven?
I take it time has changed,
Along with my memory

An encryption of numbers
Outlines a path of old feelings,
Leaving me wilted like a flower
With no sun

And if by chance,
The digits align
Would your tone lift up,
Or would I find a stranger, as perplexed as I?

Two,
No, Three
It has to be the pattern,
The right collection of numbers this time