Day: May 17, 2019

What Do You See in Me?

“What do you see in me?”

You really care.

“Not just my eyes and my figure and hair?”

All of those things are as fleeting as snow.

“So what do you see in me?”

I think you know.

I see the way that you watch

when you think

I am not looking and having a drink.

I see the way that you smile at my faults,

but not at my failings; my wounds get no salt.

I see the way you receive me at night.

Even in anger, you make it alright.

I see the way that you smile at the sun,

holding my hand as we laugh, walk, and run.

I see the way that you cry in the rain,

holding me tight as you’re sharing your pain.

I see the life in you thriving inside,

happy to have him along for the ride.

I see the way that

your heart beats for me.

What do I see in you?

All there could be.

 

Dancer 2

The timelessness of mutual expressions

meet on a city street.

Music inspired the dance inspired the music…

turning in a soulful waltz,

ever intertwined.

Across generations,

across genres,

across skin,

into the soul

they fuse,

and mate,

and make children called

Beautifully,

Artistic,  Virtuosity.

She dances across the notes,

He floats when she leaps,

and the electric connection

has its way with them both,

until it is sated,

and they part,

forever together

as the reverb of melody,

of improvised, wind -borne brass,

and the whispering tap-click- scrape

of slippered steps

fade in echoes,

walking together

across the waking avenues

they both call

home.

 

Dancer

This one is intriguing.

She dances with an

abandoned modesty,

a contradiction, I know,

but beauty is her weapon,

and movement is her knowledge,

and I sit before both,

a reed in a hurricane wind,

helpless to stop watching,

unwilling to break the spell.

And with her graceful hands

and swaying hips,

she pulls all reason from me.

And I dream of silken sheets and quiet fires,

the taming of torrid, roaring passions,

and the banking heat of embers

cooling with small, shy smiles

by the light

of the

morning sun.

These Long, Slow, Lovely Sunsets

These long, slow, lovely sunsets

are bittersweet to see.

They mark the passing of time,

the ending of things once held dear,

the seasons,

the deceptively rapid maturing

of children,

as the present day

is stamped by the last rays

into the book of the past.

I watch, and grieve, and rejoice,

and wonder how many more

I have.

But I will also

treasure those

I’ve been blessed to see,

and remember,

knowing that at least

the long, slow, lovely sunsets

will never outshine

the love we leave behind,

when our own light,

now extinguished,

is rekindled

in another place,

to rise anew,

and start again.

 

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