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Of This I Write, Hope, Dream

Lying here between the folds of an uncaring sheet A thunderous blustery evening calls me from sleep Tracing shadows on dark walls through desperate eyes Counting minutes on a clock’s reflective markings Rain drips from altered eaves steadily, slowly falling In syncopated patterns on damp grass clippings Teasing my mind in the endless possibilities Of what my desires, even at this hour plead Your image finds me, still and silent Questions come in long sentences Breaking down dreams of distance church bells Wondering if we truly could be, together Will you ever find love again, could you In the arms of one who imagines your beauty Tastes your lips in midnight thoughts Feels your skin on chilly twilight sighs Of this I write, not because it is who I am But because it is what I was meant to be Poetically entwined, metaphorically wrapped Draped upon your heart in phrases of collected verse Read aloud as a smiling sun approaches Whispering your name over the horizon’s wonder Echoing of this affection that drains my soul And longs to breathe you for the very first time From my pen flows lonely ink In lace-like frilly fonts of an italicized nature Curling around these words penned in the dark Hoping you see, hoping you read, hoping…………