# #

Tuesday, August 4, 2009


I met a man; he is you in twenty
years. His hair is white, skin wrinkled,
mustache curled, but his eyes glisten
with excitement and allure.

His voice touches my heart with attentive
encouragement. His middle is relaxed now,
but it leaves a secure pillow for my head, and
his arms are the warmest blanket around.

And I love you, for all of your disbelief of
the future and growing old, I’ve seen you then
and love you still; so much so, I wish for the future
to hurry up and come.


1 comment:

Semaphore said...

The best of your poems brings a warmth of comfort in relationships; this is one of them. And the way you do it is creative, meeting your companion in the future - and though much physically changes, the love is unchanged. And the last line - "so much so, I wish for the future to hurry up and come" - rounds it all out perfectly.