11/5/09

I missed you

dormirse, bien,
mi ciela;
it is beyond wonderful
to have the musical,
magical,
mystical
sounds of you
sleeping,
back in my ears:
toils, soils,
tears, fears,
trails, travails;
all fall silent,
become distant,
as I listen to the constant
rise and fall of your
breathing,
wreathing all of this love
that we catch,
faultless,
leaving
nothing
unexpected,
only union,
unanimously elected
by a wide margin
of only two;
the best of choices,
only the two voices
that matter in the matter
at hand, at all.



November 3, 2009, for the Wifey.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

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