Love Letter

I wanted to give you something special:

Not hand-written and stamped,

Nor flowers that fade,

Or a tchotchke to stare at,

But something to hold and touch that would prompt you to scheme
And think of me.

First Four

It has been said mine eyes are stoutest dark,
Like amber but more rich and flecked with gold.
I say they are yet empty, stranger, hark:
Thine beauty they are waiting to behold.

Two-Four-Six

You are the excitement of change and thrilling spark
Of the new. The scent of woman and breath of life.
You are as a rope to the drowning man, a light in my dark.
I long to drink in your sorrows and expel your strife.
But these are just words, notes in a chat, hung on a lark.
And I am beset with doubt, with reservations rife.
So hold me at distance, contain me in your charms.
And tell me you'll wait until you can hold me in your arms.

A Notion

Every Time Lord Needs a Companion.

- The Muse

Muse

Shall I spend another hour to show

In words, in sound, Your beauty to extol?

Surmount my sweet devotions with, "I know;"

And wrap my doubts in tales meant to console?

I know You not, yet these months have passed away!

Only by letters, poems, shy glances,

Pictures and tales, gifts and grins in play,

With tears, halting tales of life's lost chances.

Does it match "forever," this still shabby garment?

Oh Lover, avert your eyes and forget.

The workmanship is flawed, the seams are rent.

Crooked lines fail even your silhouette.

I'll start, anew, a mantle now sincere.

Devote words to treasures on our frontier.