It is the lazy, lapping waters on the lake.
Or the perfect, pale peak of Mount Rainier.
The silence of the whirling laptop fan and cars passing on the street.
Poetry is when I take of my contacts and see fuzzy patches of white and coral and cream,
as I lay still and listless under my covers.
Poetry is when I'm with you,
and everything seems right.
Or at least, nothing can go wrong.
It is that sense of endless adventure and impenetrable security.
It is how holding your hand makes me feel loved,
and kissing you makes me feel beautiful.
There is no poetry for now, when you are gone.
There is no stabbing pain in my heart, though the tears continue to fall.
Just a numbness,
and a silence in my mind,
the whole world is quiet, as if waiting for your return to me before resuming its wonders and joys.
Be back soon.
Be back safe.
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