Poor thing 
is sick
and I 
mother hen
do attend 
to every
ache pain 
and misery 
with coos
soothing soup
and a 
little laughter 
everyone knows 
even illness 
enjoys company 

The discovery 
of people 
should unfold
a napkin 
placed softly 
in lap
the secrets
of people 
should be 
stumbled upon 
paper notes 
stuffed into 
little cubbyholes 
of some 
ancient desk
the bodies 
of people 
should be 
slowly unearthed 
through intimate 
delicate touch 
button by
challenging button 
and cherished 
like sea
glass and 
smooth stones 
found on 
the seashore 

Once tapped 
it flows
for flow
it must 
until flood
is reduced 
to trickle 
for only 
then can 
what’s sprung
ever be 
considered spring 

Three is how 
I imagine two 
of us talk
be it whisper 
or even shout
three says more 
than just two 
except when two
talk in threes

It’s smile
more than 
anything else 
his mine
others and
frequently ours
that makes 
this these
things us
for without 
the smile 
most else 
wouldn’t have 
it was 
and is
what drew
us together 
like bee
to flower 
to flight 
to honey