I watch you when you're too busy to notice that I am
You make me wait for those moments of focus
And when they come I know your silhouette
and I've never seen my own face in a
picturesque, Victorian sort of way. You have.
You have seen me as I cannot see myself.
I am a cynic, rugged and tactless
I am your bark not your leaf, your leather not cotton
But to you I am soft, a rough milled silk
Only you own the thought of my touch on your skin.
And as for you, and how you smile on my soul,
I want to reinvent poetry for you, and love
And let people see how my mind has changed
How the dreams are now too much for me
So I must share them, and you welcome them.
this exchange being only one of many.
