Days of Your

Lots of poems did I write Most were written late at night For what I'd always strive to do Was have one waiting there for you When you arose, the first bouquet Of fragrant words to start your day I used to tell you things that way Since to your face I could not say But now it seems sometimes I can I know not how, nor why, nor when I started feeling comfortable Enough to tell you almost all Not everything though, deep inside I hold some back, they're set aside Until such time as may permiss Commencement starting with a kiss