I like 
calling you 
things I
see for 
when seen
I see
me telling 
you that 
I saw
you before 
I’d ever 
seen them 

Time doesn’t exist 
history does certainly 
but not time 
not like it
used to exist 
time was like 
a muddy paddock
through which to
trudge a bayou
full of snakes 
and other creatures 
but now at
least with you 
time which always 
had been marked 
by its march 
has become little 
more less than 
prints in sand
washed to sea

It’s those quiet 
ditty’s those itty
bitty little things 
pebbles in shoes 
snowflakes on tongue 
sighs in dark 
hand grabs in 
cinemas when scared
you are my
last match found 
that brings spark
and its magic 
making me giddy

Very little 
is what 
I need 
yet very 
much is
what I
have as
very most 
is what 
you bring 
and the 
very best 
is what 
we are 

You’ve become a 
cold drink on
a hot day 
a warm bath 
on a cold 
dark snowy night 
a candle during 
a thunderstorm and 
an open window 
during the rain 
you soothe yet
you awaken like 
a balm to 
this old weary
heart and a 
mitten that holds 
the fingers of 
us snuggly together 
but still capable 
of molding and 
tossing those snowballs 
directly at those 
sweetest soft spots 
making us laugh 
at each other