Young Love
Her eyes are what you see first...intent...
peering through my facade and pretense
as if she sees my soul laid bare
and loves me anyway.
her eyes are deep-ocean blue
I sink into them
...do not save me
I’m happy...immersed there.
Her hair is the color of cool, wet, sand
and frame the face of an angel...indeed...
her smile is wide;
she beams when she’s pleased...
cheeks bunch up and
give her eyes an Oriental glee.
Her words flow a mile a minute...
faster than I can write...
...IF I spoke her tongue.
She has a really nice frame...
everything where and as it should be...and more.
I love to watch her as she speaks
...her hands move as if she signs for the deaf.
She has so much energy...
so much interest in all that surrounds her...
she flies back and forth
hovering over everything that
catches her eye...then moves to the next
discovery du jour!
She is not always happy...
but it is my mood of choice.
I have made the mistake of interfering
...once or twice...
disagreeing when I thought I must
and felt her wrath...
....the shouting voice...
...the angry tears...
...daggered look that would have
pierced my heart...again and again...if it could.
I try not to offend her...
that is wise.
She is not a cuddler...but that’s ok...
...I’m not a cuddler myself...
but if she was...I’d change.
She makes me want to change...be a better man.
I know she loves me...for what I am.
I have not let her down...yet.
I hope I never do.
I have a theory...we are what we are...warts and all
...and she loves all of me.
I thrive on her many helpings of drive-by love.
she is not put off by my distance
...or my rough exterior
she just reaches inside my breast...
...touches my heart...
and her eyes say “There...there!
We are so close.
I can’t wait until she’s fluent.
I want to hear her speak...say...
“Grampie!”
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