Hand in hand and toes to toes,
we’re cheek to cheek and nose to nose.
Intermeshed we’re holding tight,
bliss is shared in the morning light.
Our hearts melting in winter skies,
volumes heard in her dreamy eyes,
The sun is shining and spring is near.
Though not to hurry, our love is here.
The day is gray, my mood is bright.
The air is cold but I’ve seen the light.
My darling slumbers, cozy and warm.
Together we’re safe, surviving the storm.
With a kiss she’ll awake from a dream.
Our eyes meet and our faces will beam.
The hugging continues meshed as one.
Another day for us has now begun.
Time will pass, eventually we’ll rise.
The future’s now clear in our loving eyes.
The dreams of day become the dreams of night.
Our tomorrows the same and that’s all right.
I woke today to another blank page,
options limitless within its cage.
Alarms can’t jar when life is free.
And if words don’t flow, that’s on me.
Though this day’s cold and wet,
it’s sunny somewhere, this I’d bet.
But I’m not there and that’s my choice.
T’is where I sit I find my voice.
Close your eyes and the lights go out.
Close your mind and life’s in doubt.
In our heads is where we live.
Excuses none when none to give.
And time it seems has a friend,
when time it seems, has no end.
When procrastination‘s in the past.
And nothing ever goes too fast.
But time does end and we’re still friends,
besties or maybes’ just depends.
So warmth I’ll share this winters’ day.
The warmth felt is for you to say.
And when you awake from tonight’s dreams,
It’ll be yesterday, or so it seems.
Then smile at all you may have missed.
And share more magic with those you’ve kissed.
You won’t recall this subliminal mess,
but you’ll dream and that’s no guess.
So goodnight for now, I’ll see you then,
when the world’s in order, not if but when.
I could write another love poem,
but all the words I’ve used.
Maybe a poem of friendship and intimacy,
or perhaps how two souls fused.
I might write about a sunset,
or maybe the new days’ dawn.
I could weave a tale of unicorns,
since it’s fantasy I’m drawn.
I could share more about my dreams,
as it is a third of my time.
But I’m sure I’ll write more love poems,
she being my most passionate rhyme.
Days pass without a thought.
Life flows, words are naught.
Fantasy’s forged, reality wrought.
Patience builds, time has taught.
The future is the past brought.
The present is where caught.
Work consumes, hurdle fraught.
Solace earned, never bought.
Joy is when not distraught.
Dreams fought, wishes besought.
Love defined by what is sought.
Success is, as it ought.
Awakened by a dream of dawn,
sunshine beckons a brand new day.
Alas to find my words are gone,
a nightmare dark has found its way.
My darling slumbers peacefully,
awaiting her daily verse.
There my joy’s writ for her to see,
yet I suffer the poet’s curse.
My only wish is to make her smile,
returning the love she’s given.
And to make her laugh for a while,
curse be damned, this heart is driven.
A story’s brewing; it’s felt in my heart.
Yet I’ve to find the end, middle or start.
I think it’s close but it could be far.
The damage done and left a scar.
The image is blurry and makes no sense.
I’m hangin’ out with a guy named Pence.
We’re trapped in a cell with fancy drapes.
There are no cigarettes but everyone vapes.
Our lofty guard is seven feet tall.
He brings us bread and that is all.
P’s is white and mine is wheat.
But we don’t mind, it’s something to eat.
P tells stories of his glorious time.
I write fast and make it all rhyme.
He worked for a king, second in charge.
His duties were light but his paycheck large.
The lights go out at ten o’clock.
The guards go home and we all rock.
Music starts jammin’ in a cell nearby.
The place gets smoky and we all get high.
Our eyes grow heavy then we all dream.
We awake at sunrise to coffee with cream.
The king too presides in a cell downstairs.
It’s dark and damp but no one cares.
The king has a wife he no longer sees.
She crawled off to Russia on her hands and knees.
Though his kids live here, their just down the hall.
They all got snatched while attending a ball.
Now tuxedo’s in tatters and gown’s a mess,
the truth was clear, no need to confess.
So maybe this story’s no story at all.
It may be a nightmare, I can’t recall.
Though being in jail I wasn’t keen.
But comfort is felt when the future’s seen.
I did get released, no word of the rest.
And all ends well, their silence being best.