Prophmatt . . . Poems

I placed my hand upon a mirror as though I could find her hand there
she whose words are my own as when our thoughts flow together
whose touch of class makes my heart want to beat
...

If we could explain us, then our relationship hasn't depth. Does one exhaust why one was born?

We are lovers. Sometimes we spontaneously smile. We could be slogging sloppy rain, and there comes to us this smile. You could be standing across the room conversing. I happen to smile this smile so as you smile this smile.
...

If you want this choice relation
Have a merry disposition

Rosy cheeks, yet not so fat
...

In the beginning was her hand.
Ever so briefly her hand held mine,
And our hands were as one.
...

As I lie on my back, alone, and look at my hand,
I realize it's been replacing a woman.

However, in all that it does so efficiently, it never complains or sulks ruefully. It never is jealous. It's never unkind. Most of all it never assumes- and therefore is able to take me as I am.
...

I wondered if she wherever she were looked up at the moon tonight not to look at it
Look as it were at me though and through as the moonlight lay still her thoughts
Her thoughts so many of them far few for me;
They are about her life and what is she supposed to want... and what she wants to see happen in the lives of those for whom she cares.
...