No more poems

No more sweet tongues of rhyming love

Of flowing ink from veins of passion

All

that needed to be known

that needed to be heard

transcended

All because

You have become poetry itself

Of my life, of my love.

January 22, 2009

9:21 AM

Morning

There are mornings when I try to reach my hand out

Wanting to grasp the other side of my bed

My fingers needing to feel your face

My eyes slowly open like a waking flower longing for sunlight

And I realize you're not there

And every time I wake up to the same picture

I ask myself

What is morning without the sun?

January 23, 2009

7:17 AM