Promissory

I cannot wait to hold you in my arms
Secure from anything that I could fear:
All physical and also mental harms,
And everything that is not warm and dear.
What can assail us when we two are one?
What trouble our unblemished joy of mind?
There is no happiness left unbegun
By our embrace, no bliss we cannot find
Within that circle. We are all in all,
And need not look outside for any need
Until the force of nature starts to call
So that we rise to clean ourselves and feed.
Yet even so, we need no others there:
Our combined love shall be our only care.

Tic

It seemed today I should be at my ease,
Lounging along in laziness all day,
Only exerting what effort I'd please,
Vigor a distant memory. Yet stay:
Even my old self would not have done so,
Keeping in mind the way I lived before.
At least I would have ventured out to know
The way the world was wagging at my door,
In some obscure attempt to find a meaning
Exiled from my life. So even then
Just as today, I would have been found cleaning
A bit of rust off of my life again.
Still, I must say a difference is there,
A sense that now I make a true repair.

Novelty World

So many streets whose names I never heard
Before, although so near to where I've been,
As if a new development occurred
Between my setting out and coming in.
Yet every place was there before, I know,
And when I left the place was peopled too;
The time cannot have been that long ago,
Nor is there anything I can call new.
No, it is old, and I am wrong to say
It has not been here. I should know it better.
Nothing here has sprung up in a day;
It is forgetfulness is the begetter
Of this strange thought. It must have been here. Yet
Something in me still doubts I would forget.

Charity

Annoyance often breeds humanity:
Here have these fifty cents and go away
I'll pay your ticket, only permit me
To be myself and go another way.
How often does the poor man weep and pray
And find only frustration? Which, well trained,
And cultivated by its finder, may
Exact a human moment from the pained,
And make them for a moment softer-brained,
Less stiff and stubborn, flexible indeed
Enough to, when the greatest flash has waned
Of anger, be more generous to need
Than those still unprovoked. Must we have rage
Before the human in us will engage?

Travel

I am not home yet nor am like to be
Until more hours lengthen my delay;
The will not be wasted on the way
And yet I groan it lies in front of me.
For though departed my nativity
And come where now I dwell, I cannot say
That I am home; nor could I did I stay
Were I was born, for at home I must see
Her face, and feel her arms entwining mine.
I am not home when I am not with her.
I cannot tell how much I wish I were,
Nor can I make my wayward soul resign
Itself to separation. She is home
And so some hours more I still must roam.

Beats

I count the hours, and the minutes too,
I count the very seconds in my heart,
The gaps between the beats are a tattoo
Of loneliness, inked in on every part
Of my unsilent soul. I cannot rest,
Even with the music of the time,
For if I pause, then in my waiting breast
The pressure of impatience starts to climb
And I can feel it ticking to explode.
So I keep busy, but I count it out,
Moment by moment, keeping safely stowed
My wide impatience, and the urge to shout
Soon, soon, I will be there. And it is soon.
I follow its slow, but expansive, tune.

Visibility

I know exactly what I'm doing here;
There's no illusion blearing up my eyes.
I know the course that I intend to steer,
And though I'm not immune to a surprise,
I have some confidence in what I'm doing,
Nor any hesitation in the deed.
No false delusion clings to me, imbuing
My every action with a little seed
Of dubiosity. No, I'm aware
Of all her flaws, and all that could go wrong,
And while it isn't that I do not care,
I have accepted them where they belong
And love her all the same. What else can matter?
All other topics are but idle chatter.

Wonder Much

I wonder sometimes just how much it matters
That I want so much just to be with her,
That my heart leaps and vaguely pitter-patters
When she is talking, or that I prefer
To talk with her, no matter day or night,
Above all others, if it can be done.
I wonder sometimes, when I think it might
Not matter much. Because I have begun
This way, I wonder if it could be taken for
A baseline, and for granted. Could it be
That had I been more coy and waited more,
She would note my availability?
I do not think so, and I also know
There is no other way that I could go.

Symptoms

There's something wrenches when I cannot see
Your face, or hold you deep within my arms.
Something is wrong if you are not with me:
I am addicted to your many charms.
My heart will palpitate, my fingers itch,
Each muscle in my face is slightly tense,
My face will tingle, and my leg will twitch,
And something else is off with every sense
Whenever I am far from you too long.
Therefore I cannot help but miss you, dear,
Because the only place where I belong
Is with you, and I need to keep you near
To be myself. So let me be with you
Because it's what I want - and need - to do.

Bookish

I'd like to curl up with you like a book
Cozy and warm, within a common bed,
Resting my arm around your nestled head,
Making our little heaven in that nook,
Seeing you smile warmly in my crook
As I pull you in tighter. Love is fed
By just such moments. And if I have read
Your mind correctly, such desires hook
Your will as well as mine. So come with me
And let us lie together so, and touch,
Feeling each other nestle joyously
And lest the time should pass too quickly, clutch
The bliss from every moment. Let us lie
And let the boring world pass our bed by.