I listened to the way your hands held mine.

I painted upon a canvas every time your eyes opened doors in my mind-

that I thought had been sealed shut with mortar and bricks.

I lived thru the nights 

when alone I'd sit

and remember how you told me

you lived memories, like these too.

I waited patiently

as you went about

and found other women

who wanted to play.

Hell some times I'd leave my house at dusk

and return at the dawn of a new day.

I gave myself credit

for the shit I've been through

and I'd make my memories

the way a free bird would do.


I became a full version of myself,

but in the background you stayed-

like a journal half written in, 

just waiting for me to write our story

to the very last page.


I picked up my pen and thought of you.


You called me (to meet up)

the first time we ever met 

your aloof personality held a humorous phone conversation

I'll never forget.


You showed me 

who you were and what you did:

colliding energies like

merging galaxies

behind my closed eye lids. 



You hesitated 

when you presd the glass of red wine

upon your lips,

and then you told me 

as if it were the only chance you would get to say

"I love you" and you spoke poetry in prose

letting me know 

the love you felt for me 

was deep

like the depths of a canyon,

you wanted to explore me,

and *how) my thunder shook you

from within

making you want to pounce unto me

every time my lightning blue eyes looked into yours

the way a panther opens hers-

after a long slumber

and I made you want to learn more,

as you searched the forest for the key

to the heart of me.

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