I go back, I write….
to stay in my heart, I must.
You are back, You have returned home…
to the place you have lived, both in this world and mine, for so long…
Back, to the place were you kept me warm when love eluded me, when my dreams seemed to be nothing more than shadows in the afternoon light.
Back, to my heart, back to your home.
A journey taken in parallel
and the moments slipped away, as they do…
but the moments leave their impressions, like book makers printing presses…
perhaps they last a hundred years, or more, who knows?
Dancing, laughing, waking, crying, in the sleep, in the darkness, in the day of heat and the morning of frost.
My ever is enveloped in a letter for you….my verse is in U.
The stripes of our wars respectively are worn on not our faces but our feet, and I will sing to you in a deep crooner’s voice, and I will lie in your arms and cry like a child, and I will do a handstand and a Tango and make garlic flavored food that I won’t mind kissing you in the morning with my morning breath because you love me.
Now, we must sleep, very, very far away from one another, and we must cry these crystals whose story is ours, and they will be all around this place and that, and our hearts will beat faster when we think of one another’s perfect forms, in envelopes, caressed by their senders, and mailed across the seas by strangers on silver ships.