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Is it in my eyes
that you see reflected
the sweet and tender spark
of life's content and quiet moments?
Is it in my hands
that you feel the warm pulse,
of a beating, counting
machine that measures your happiness?
Is it in my soul
that searching as you can
in the barest corners,
you find objects familiar and worn?
For many times my lips
have contented themselves
in imagining the splendor
only closed eyes can savor.
For many times my mind
has thought its reason small
and sought only understanding
of your thoughts through a caress.
For many times my soul
has stolen the smallest,
forgotten, personal objects
it knows are your very own.
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Poetry: Love expressed
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