By Kimbers
Date: 7 December 1999

He knows

I will write him a letter
On thick, creamy paper, a caress
With a spidery hand, delicate and old
I will whisper to his heart

I will list his virtues
One after the other
The melody of who he is
I will sigh in his ear

I will show him my soul
In bold brushstrokes
Painted in colors after a rain
I will hold his gaze

I sit
Poised above a field of white
I cannot form the words
How do I tell him I burn at his touch
Or that his eyes make me drunk
What notes, played to the air
Will sing louder than his lips to mine
Can light, reflected in a thousand moments
Show him what he has created

He finds me
Hidden in tears 
and sharp crumpled edges
evidence of my halting hand
I wait as he moves from one sheet to the next
I cannot breathe nor blink
His mouth plays with a smile
I sit, rigid, anchored 

He sighs
I break
An avalanche of reason, the apologies of intellect
He whispers 
No
Raising his smiling, shining eyes to me
He is a child
Holding all the treasures of his imagination
In those white pages
For me?
A whisper

The room is alive 
And I whirl and spin
His arms my carousel
And I can breathe

I just can't write him a letter