A Handful of Lakewood Sand

at the risk of red leaves unfurling perennial wisdom just outside my peripheral vision, their lace reeling against the city potholes sinking deeper into ich bin ein Clevelander despair, i confirm that it is spring trumpeting its pageantry as the pages turn, just before the summer of past regrets ferrets its pensive conclusion but that's not really what i want to say, it's poetic foreplay i want to tell you how i adore your eyes, soft and misty and steel grey with blue-tipped clouds, i want to tell you that i kiss the dimple on your chin a thousand times while you scrape and paint and go about your day, i want to say thank you for being real; dancing into this morning's cup of brew we drink each other down long ago you stared across a far away landscape and i meet your gaze thundering across poems we would write.