awaiting a love letter, no Dear John,
a letter sealing the space between
the two bodies of spirit,
of like-mind, of smiles,
tears of their own;

she may as well be
singing
with Monarch wings;

as the laconic but lively
melody slides past cilli
making a baby-soothing
warmth heat my body
of doubt, of care.

she's alive, shows it
with no trepidation
of expression;

i tune her in clearly
and like the radio-men on Normandy
tune out the rest,
the cacaphonies of wordless
cacoons, restless from silence.

yet, i live more vividly
using her words as
lens with which to
focus and see more clearly
than i ever could before.

05/12/2005

Posted on 05/12/2005
Copyright © 2025 Charlie Morgan