I cannot hold these words still another moment for this would be a crime against the will of my heartspeak.
They would dangle in a wrestle and collide inside of me gagging on a chain of tears until I’d have to swallow whole sentences , no commas.
I cannot restrain the inspiration falling from you to sift my soul for the finer pieces of me.
I trace the filigree of your delving thoughts and the sads of unmade plans wither up
delighting my feet to dance on tipsy-toes and curtsy to the sound of my own hoorays.
A gentle door swings open to a room and there is a view painted with your rich underbelly gravy, delish.
I know you seek no recompense for your sublime garnishing of what life brings, I only ask to be taken in the carriage of your imagination again and again.
You delight us with your graceful accent serving up poetical full moon dessert, I admit to dipping my spoon and lingering my tongue on the taste of your words.
My muse likens you to a beautiful bluestocking butterfly with wings of the truest reflection, music in the sky.
Words are parceled up in the right kind of sweet edible brown paper to unwrap and eat.
Two gifts offered as one by the gentle push of a shy hand, a poets hand that has been seeking more in the places we forget to look when looking for less or more in life.
You understand the lonely where a wordsmith sometimes dwells offering long legs of phrases to counter balance the shortfall from missing where the starting place began.
You are the loving foot soldier carrying the heart of our words to the brim of our tomorrows.
The fire settles to crackle less and cinder to a little ash, hear the hush of thank you.
When we wished upon a star heaven sent you , our little ink bottle.