Laying in wait… I was, for this time,
Hoping; so hoping, to hear your voice,
That voice, I missed so very much,
These days,
Low and behold… thus it was time,
And across the waves, I heard you,
That voice, I missed so very much,
Today,
And again, it was here, you were there,
Across the waves and into me,
Flowing like the waves that travelled through days,
Always,
I break poetic structure, to say,
That you are ever in my thoughts,
You,
Your fine perfection that speaks to me,
In so many ways,
And, I am likely to ramble,
For I have not been able to,
Until tonight... with you, across the waves,
And your voice told me,
What your words could not,
That you are still with me,
Oceans apart, yet as close as footsteps,
My mind afire in fantasy and reality,
Thinking… remembering the ways,
We flowed together,
In waves and passion,
And… again with the And…
In passion we rocked it out,
We found things not seen in ourselves,
Found in the clarity of the other,
And… wow… I am still yours,
Even if you can’t be mine,
Like the waves are upon the ocean,
Shifting with the pull of currents,
I see you… in my minds eye,
Daily…
As part of my way of getting through,
On to the next day, another day without you,
And I never get to tell you,
That I love you, and how much I,
Want you by my side,
Forever,
And… In poetry, I have a way,
Of saying the things I mean to say,
In the everyday,
And so, for you, this work is made,
Made to show you, that this man,
Waves every time he drives by,
His heart waking in memory,
Of your soft kisses,
And Christ… fuckin Christ,
Those kisses and caresses,
Change me in an instant,
Back to the first moment I tasted your lips,
Smelled your beauty upon my clothes,
And how I still imagine you in the shower,
Dripping against me in the heat and cold,
Holding tight in that wetness,
See… I told you I’d ramble…
And yet, in the ramble,
There are so many moments missing,
Missing… Like I am to you,
And I could go on and on in metaphor and simile,
Telling you how important you are to me,
Things as obvious as,
How the trees miss the spring,
Or how the trapped fish miss the tide,
And how the Lilies love the mire,
Like the wind misses the leaves,
Howling as do the lost souls,
Blowing through the tall grasses,
Singing their praise to those who listen,
But really... and mostly,
I just miss you,
You… in the finite times we’ve had,
On the shores of flowing waters,
And the screeching of hunting owls,
And the beaver tail slaps,
And the scurry of a skunk’s feet,
And the call of the lonely crow,
And the fire that is in us,
Is burning on,
