Cynthia Smiles Poem by Thomas Bates

in your latest letter, what you wrote
about the need of a child inside that you have for
a particularly beautiful
form of safety,
I write a response to it now,
to make sense of your explanation.

in your answering of my questions
it was honest, unmasked and inspiring.
it takes trust, doesn't it,
that I've developed in that time in you
to replace the learned mistrust? ,
which I will not complicate for us
or form a space between each other.
with the understanding and tenderness
of an empathy for a confused child-like
self within me
you have generously shown; it's inside of you, too, and inside of
everybody.

what can I do that is special enough
to genuinely thank you?
may I perhaps open my rainy arms
to accept all the warmth you hold in yours,
into my heart?

and why it is when I am fulfilling
your written wishes
to come in you, poetry's
original furnishings -
that the thoughts I place down onto paper
w/ their timid bravery
come back here so often,
to matters of the heart,
such as these? : to haunt me all over again, and so?

I'm haunted,
troubled and feeling the million aches of some sorts of fear.

although I know the high prize of perfect
Love's humility
the energy of true love
lets us
pulls us
defeats us and
remakes us
into dreamless sleepers, blind to sentiment.
blind friends of good fortune- don't
you
worry, now.
the light's gone out in this cell.
the glass or two of good homemade wine
is always half empty here.
I wrote this if just to let you know
you're on my mind very often!
to one whose taste lingers so sweetly:
baby, I hope I made you smile,
darling.