year to

the word does fall

carefully as a struck page
cunning the hours its soothes its noise
as your present lips are distant



i call the prose of your sweetness this hour with plenty
in my heart the air of your personality is each minute
I yearn for you.
Year goes .
Fast.
Swift
.
suds of a news reel.
garnered b y wheat and sun.


this hand calls your heart
cupping its nearness to my face



I sneak around the love
of your face

almost courageous to love
you
I do

_________