Belated

You once said my words meant nothing
I recall, I am aware
But I believe you were
mistaken, my darling
my dear

So pardon my cliches and
my poorly thought rhyme -
I'd like to let me heart
gush
just one last
time

To remember those eyes
more blue than sky and sea
To remember those hips
their gentle sway, their
ease

Fountains of Wayne blaring in
the kitchen while you
bake
snickerdoodle cookies and
red velvet
cake

The lips stained bloody from
an evening of
wine
Those same lips pressed firmly,
fitted perfectly to
mine

Those hands clasped with my
hands always felt
so right
Hands I'll never hold again
after that March
night

How would they look with my
ring I'm never to know
For those hands that I love
were the ones
I
let go.

And for your birthday my love
I've a gift here for you
I let go of those hands
I'll let go of you
too.

Always I will love you
though it came to an
end
And I will always
always cherish you
my love
my
best friend

Kindred

The firelight tickles her little bare toes and casts shadowy phantoms across her ivory visage. She smiles and laughs during deep conversation that I cannot hope,
in my feeble grasp of humanity,
to comprehend.

I am not a stupid man, and yet I feel a fool in her presence. I can't help but wonder if she even notices me. For who am I? No one. What am I? Just another suitor? No.
For a suitor would make the effort,
and I am frozen in time.

A time when I mattered to someone. Someone who is a phantom. A ghost. A memory. And in my frozen state I am lost to life. Lost to the possibility of a new love. But truth will show through, and I see now that I
am not lost.

Merely a coward.

Afraid to let go. Afraid to reach out to one who might be a kindred spirit, but one who
does not fear. She loves. Life.

And I am too afraid to let go and fall
in love
again.

Child of...

With the wonder of a child she sees the world, and
her bright smile makes angels feel glad
to be alive.

Through simple acts she shows the inherent kindness
that resides within her: a laugh at a bad joke, a pat on
the shoulder, tea.

While others may do such things, they fail to do so with
such aplomb - were He not her creator, God Himself might envy
her simple, loving manner and her clear love
of life and the world
in which she resides.

The sun, moon, and stars pale in comparison to
the splendor of her pure soul,
and the ease with which she carries
her beauty.

No painting or photograph can capture it,
and words, my words,
are simply
not
enough.