Every beat of my heart
Is its desperate attempt
To crack caged rib,
Burst out of my chest,
And find its way to you.
For what is life,
But your nearness?
What am I,
Without your touch?
Because you now stream
Through my entirety,
Like a vast winding river
To my heart’s sea,
Every little drop
Sodden with you.
Swallows you like the ocean does
A single pebble on its broad sweeping bed.
Engulfs you as eternity does a second.
Surrounds you like the beach does
A miniscule granule of sand.
Wraps around you as utter blackness does
Weaves through you like the
Miles of veins winding within your body.
Encapsulates you from cover to cover
Like a book does a single word.
Consumes you like a flame
Among a blazing fire.
It envelops you like a letter,
Sent to the ends of the world
Dawn’s light cuts its way through the night
In a single minute pierce.
Frost laden grass clings to life,
Blanketed in troves of colorful death.
Frigidness has entered air’s door,
And leaves trickle down to earth slowly,
In soft puffs of breeze,
As they twirl and flitter to an ancient dance.
Up above, forests are kingly crowned
In canopies of electric yellow.
And a robin casts a song into the air,
In hopes of a reciprocated melody.
A misty gray haze lingers above the surface of a lake,
Haunting the waters last traces of warmth.
And tall slim trees make the sun shutter through shadows
In gleams of fiery pulses.
Black arteries of bark
Bloom piercing red goblets of blood.
And eager branches reach out to one another,
In a frenzy of friendly greeting.
A coyote tunes its ears into the day’s sounds,
Sensitive to even the slightest draw of breath.
Trunks and branches long fallen, decay outside of time,
With a hushed groan for acknowledgement.
Mighty oaks drop its glistening brown offspring,
Full of wondrous hopeful anticipation.
Yet leaves, whose veins were once charged with illuminated vibrancy,
Are beginning to dwindle and fade into a dull grim.
The old woods sit in silence, listening for its long time friend,
To sing a lullaby into its ears,
And one can tell its whisper is stirring up archaic dreams,
As nature begins to close its eyes and fall asleep.
Even if we are but a dream;
Then let the one who is asleep
And if we are but an author’s story;
Then let it contain infinite chapters
Its page’s pores drenched
With our love’s scent.
The happiness you
Bring me, makes me wish I had
A much larger smile.
You are the grand laugh,
Which billows in my lung’s depths,
The smile before I’m happy.