You are as the glow when I close my eyes to the sun at my glancing face,
as it warms my side to a spectrum of red, and I turn my head to balance,
wondering which of these words I should write.

You are as the mellow unease of my waning memory of whether such words will remain
if them I so chose;
as the ease in my so doing,.. its undoing in, Will they be enough?

A fear of forsaking Now for hope that Past may be Future surrounds me,
and a distant you of now is your affection.
A love of presence in absence or a love in absence, I am torn,
as this memory of a purest fate does guide my ways and linger like timely reflection
—not that we cannot
but that will it be when needed,
and I dare not speak of objectivity
so as to mar the aesthetics of feeling.
Then you are as that sentence cut short,
as description follows,
and the vagueness of my words
I found more fitting than to continue.

What I found when we – together in trying to write you in beauty through touch
is that it is
and that this need be said before I may continue;
rhythm of this moment so calls for it.
In then I tried to hold you in longing,
as though the world were atop us there
and such that moment we would see again.

And now I worry of this: reflection of such moments;
for is it one that – well chosen?
I dare not ask what ought and will come of this,
its not being referenced as a question.

I mean hope in this moment that good does come and keep,
O, as it has.