Not yet. Not yet, not yet.
It’s her,
with those brown eyes
of hot chocolate,
always sweet
and always warm -
It’s her,
with that birdsong laugh
and rose-blossom cheeks,
with the sun’s kiss
across her relaxed shoulders
leaving sweet freckles
in its wake -
It’s she that you will love.
And your Winter eyes
that behold Summer suns
will follow her across the way,
and they will speak to her
in a language I understand,
but cannot respond to.
Your Autumn soul
will feel the caress of her fingers,
and she will hold sunlight.
I only hope she knows that.
But you’ve caught me, too,
in those stormy eyes
that lull me out to sea -
It isn’t meant to be,
And I only hope that I learn that.
But for now,
I shan’t finish this poem
because I wish to be carried away,
and be taken by those storms
just a little more -
Even at our end,
I want to hold you
for just a little longer