Us

How are you, my love?
My first, my only
Are you happy, my True?
I've been so lost, so lonely

But once a year you are mine, in a dream
When I can taste the winter-cream
On my lips, as if it was yesterday
Let me pour my heart out today...

Your big brown eyes,
I remember them so
The warmth in your embrace,
A promise to never let go.

Why to I do this every year?
Write you a poem and shed a tear
For the memory of us
When 'Us' ceased to be so long ago

That age of innocence and wonder
When we were young and the world, younger
I have to hold on to it, come what may
So I write you a poem every year in May.

How much longer can I carry this on?
My stubborn heart knows only one song
The song of 'Us' and our togetherness
Of perfect love and dreams of foreveness.

This stubborn, childish heart of mine
Does not know of surrender to time
Ah, time! Look how it passes
In rusty clocks and broken hourglasses

I am a different 'Me'
And your 'You' must be
Quite different too.

Did you find love or do you still
Look for the one who will
Sweep you off your feet
And give you kisses sweet?

I wish I could hold you,
Be there for you
Look in your beautiful eyes
And see that love again
A return to innocence

There is so much I have to say
But you are so far away
And it has been so, so long
People have come and people have gone

But you somehow remained.
Like a little warmth retained
From the dying embers of my life's spring
To give me hope in this world so cold
So unforgiving, so bitter, so old.
No telling what the future might bring

So this time of year I think of you
Those blossoming days, those 'tickets for two'.
Though grow up we must
I can wistfully dream
Of the old you and me
And a whole new 'Us'.

On missing you...

I miss you in parts. Never as a whole. I miss your hair. Coarse and wild and golden, a lion's mane. Miss how it split the morning sun into a thousand shimmering sparkles. I miss waking up to your sea-green eyes looking at me. Those sea-eyes that had drowned so much sorrow that I could see my love in them, floating helplessly on the surface.

I miss your smell, that used to linger on the sheets long after you went into the shower. I miss the texture of your calves, the shape of your back , the back of your neck, the soft skin behind your ears and I miss kissing them. I miss your long, tapering fingers(you used to say you got them from your father) and the way they used to feel on my lips. I miss being. Just being, existing, in your arms. Those mornings were so warm. The world is so cold, now.

I know it wasn't perfect. Except my love for you. So unwavering in its stubbornness, its vanity. What went wrong I do not know. Those are the parts I do not remember. Or maybe I choose not to. It is there still, stubborn and vain. My perfect love.

I miss our mornings and I miss you and I miss loving you. In parts. Always in parts.