To know my fingerprints
on another’s heart
could stir them into art
a priceless gift, a magic
To know there is a poem
written about me
those words, more beautiful
than I could ever hope to be
From the caverns of passed time
there comes a sound
a constant, quiet, ring
when I choose to listen
always there
telling of another way of living
That the heart of such an artist
a complexly creative soul
with capacity for such beauty
would choose to spill a verse for me;
incendiary!
That passionate romantic
haunts the part of me
still willing to feel things deeply
and for her soul, I write on
so long and so gratefully…
[2019]
Thanks for reading.
The Lighthouse 