I really like holding you, those precious
seconds. I really like how your soft eyes
glow on seeing me, how we’re not cautious
moving to each other, as though our wise
angels have guided us through centuries
of renewed lives, always expecting brief
meetings, knowing our arms spread open, free
as sunflowers caressing light. Time, thief
of normal days, doesn’t seem to count here
with you. Where shall we end up, do you feel?
I envision simple space, free from fear,
gazing at life’s ageless art. A place real
as my bright couch, caressing, we alone
with old songs, like teens with the parents gone.
Roger Armbrust
November 17, 2009
