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I have no poem of you
Despite the way your lashes curl
Around your eyes as you smile up at me
From beneath your hair
As you hide your face against my chest.
I have no songs or rhymes
About the way I have to stand
On tiptoe to hug you from above,
The way I’m used to being held.
You’ve never heard a single line
I've penned, nor have I even one of yours
Even though we’ve drudged up most
Of the skeleton-based dust
Lurking in the corners of my closet
Which I left so long ago.
And, truth be told, I don’t regret
Not writing your eccentricity
Into my strange anthology any sooner
Because, even now, I don’t have words
Or thoughts to sculpt concrete enough
To capture the slow spread of warmth
From your heart’s quick beating through my chest
The agony of standing near,
Touched but still restrained.
I can’t convey the innocence
Of your contented nuzzling sounds
Or how endearingly you burrow
Your bony little form into my chest,
Quiet and at ease.

01/25/08

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