A Handful of Lakewood Sand
at the risk of red leaves unfurling
perennial wisdom just outside
my peripheral vision, their lace
reeling against the city potholes
sinking deeper into ich bin ein Clevelander
despair,
i confirm that it is spring
trumpeting its pageantry
as the pages turn,
just before the summer of past
regrets ferrets its pensive conclusion
but that's not really what i want to say,
it's poetic foreplay
i want to tell you how i adore your
eyes, soft and misty and steel grey
with blue-tipped clouds,
i want to tell you that i kiss the dimple
on your chin a thousand times while you
scrape and paint and go about your day,
i want to say thank you for being real;
dancing into this morning's cup of brew
we drink each other down
long ago you stared across a far away landscape
and i meet your gaze thundering across poems
we would write.
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