Epistolary

7th July 2010

When I took to writing poetry,
and wasting less time,
Little did I know that some day, the creases of your hand would fold into mine,
Like swans touching necks upon a bed of sapphire blue.

I could reach out and hold your hand,
the same way you did mine,
But my selfishness reeks bitterly between the sands of time,
And only time will expand the way my heart did explode,
As I scan the amethyst water that surround my oh-so-humble abode, I wonder –
will there be another you?

The question echoes through my facade – will you live without me?
And I – I only think of you,
Your sweet voice an echo’s throw away, your fingertips cold
and trembling a little more out of your own fear –

Let me ask you dear,
are you scared, what can you hear that cannot be heard?
Are there words you cannot hear speak for fear of being weak – my dear,

I’ll be anything you want me to be if you know what we’ll always be;

rain or shine and even between clouds of grey or heaven.

I’m not timeless, yet one can learn,
can try much more than one’s sojourn.