I love to imagine the cool of winter’s morning,
she is bundled, glasses lie low, comfort in a soft touch,
her smile is within her conscience
as she draws the world inside her mind.
I love to know that her heart is as real
as a sweet breeze on a cool summer eve,
when two lovers allow the nature of our lives
draw their soft imaginable fantasy,
beyond the reality of a societal lie.
Oh, it is the harshness of our world does interfere,
when love becomes an unrequited fare,
it is our own pain we suffer alone,
not knowing, and only hoping the other be fair …
to themselves, to open themselves to peace.
I do wish on that cool winter morning,
she might maintain her smile,
when it is these words will glance her eyes,
she could know my love is only real,
and I can wait a thousand sunlit mornings there.