Let time I must wait to love be present,
for I will then to no end...
each word aspires to speak
as I dream of every–
where all that is exists
never to come to dubious end–
...but awaken to place
where all is made without choice.
And I shouldn't write of here, My Love,
as words cannot express,
but have weakness for this love
as I write you nonetheless:
I love what of you I saw
when my eyes would ever close;
and though it a pity to me
that ever I did blink with you near,
...when my eyes were shut, I still...
So sought, I, your smile
and did not recognize without;
but distance from source takes humor from things
as trauma stresses life,
and all I could do was...
with its steady ring
as though she would
as though all that is good is misery
because I knew just what it meant.
Were you only lovely when you smiled,
and it – a chore to do so?
It was selfish,..
as happiness for you
was the same.
It must have been my inability...
and not your cold,