At least, I think so.

Alas the winter is parting ways and greeting

no one else but myself with a smile that

only the sunshine can bring forth to life,

because from here I've seen visions of dearest

dreams and the beauty of something that not all can

view their eyes upon with the intent that I do.

For it was autumn, and I was nothing but a dream

within this life that I praised with exuberant solace

and restlessness coming from depths of nothingness to the absolute.

The wind was a soft hand from one with no known name,

beginning to caress my skin more and more as days go by.

The snow was my frozen tears of distant past,

melting in the Indian summer that breathed to me,

muttering the sweet tunes of singularity about to change, never with the notion of simplicity or implied morale;

for from my eyes I witnessed from my own wreckage, and from my own accident that withheld my heart,

I witnessed God pull from the frozen barren ground a sign of mercy, a sign of grace for which He only gave me eyes to see, and giving me thoughts of bewilderment as I see others walk by as beauty stepped from grotesque ground,

a grave turned into a bed for her resting, the shriveled leaves turned to her blankets for her warmth and her gentle modesty.

Then there, I felt wind, a breeze full of gentle cool,

and a whisper of care coinciding with the heat that I felt matasticizing through my bones and skin; my cheeks shivering with burning heat from the sights I saw, both ignorant of the chill within the air.

What she is could be called a flower,

a flower of prior extinction, of prior lives,

a flower with eyes as brown as the gentle soil I step my feet upon, so redundant to some, but within me I realize the beauty of the small, and from them I feel exasperation of the senses, my lungs begging on their knees for air with the whimsical sensation of butterflies flying in my tummy, eager to escape, eager for another glance from this flower full of grace that has risen from the ashes of what was once barren earth.

And with you, with you stood elegance by your side,

in your tiny hands so childlike and gentle,

with a smile so sincere, oh your smile wobbled my knees and made me laugh like a fool with the breeze whistling, blowing hard enough to hold me up in my swoony spell.

My mind has formed cataracts, for the pain finds it harder to make it through,

your arms are a warm blanket, a gentle embrace, and your body of ancient Goddess statue; you're so perfectly chiseled by a sculptor with skill, so perfectly made, so perfectly flawed, for I can't bare the sights of seeing without your pulchritudinous figure ornamenting the sights and sound of every day nature.

O, but your eyes, your eyes leave me weary,

they leave me with a feeling of blissful fatigue,

and I want you to hold me, ankles tangled, nose-to-nose.

But, I could not sleep, surely I would not sleep!

What is sleep when beauty and grace lies next to you?

For no dream could recreate the sights of you, this woman of unrealistic aesthetic, unrealistic soul,

irresistible to sleep when I see you,

irresistible not to doze when I need you,

and how I wish to care for you so greatly,

with my gentle hands,

and with that I give you my gentle soliloquy:

For I wish to kiss your nose, oh your nose that brings you the scent of the sunflowers and daisies and daffodils, the beauties of life that we refuse to believe we don't notice, when we walk by without a care, without a thought! I would kiss your forehead so gently, just for the sense of care, for there lies your essence of mind and person, and I love that so equally to your at glance beauty and your soft hearted desires.

I would kiss your cheek, oh your cheek so blushed and oh so soft, the other will beg to be kissed for perchance they could be blushed together to form a smile, and that smile will be.

Your lips, oh your lips, I shall kiss them, too; may they be gentle and warm with care and tenderness, for I shall never haunt your life except with gentleness and love, and this be the way I can make you feel it, for my words are nothing more than definable words, and what I feel is indefinable by thought, by words, by reason.

And dearest, may I lie my head on your breast to hear your heart beating, for within that bosom lies a heart so soft, so perfectly attuned to rhythm, that I must hear the very piece of you that makes you breathe and makes you real to see before my very own eyes.

And there I could lie, lie with no feeling at all, for you can make me feel nothing but warmth, and with warmth I am a free man, out of the walls of the prison of my sin,

of my mind, of my being, of the person that I have come to be. And may you laugh, and may you cry, and everything between, so I can learn the nuances of your heart, of your body, of your soul through every pleasure and pain you may receive. And may I not have a handkerchief to wipe away those tears, so I may kiss those eyes and dry them myself, so I can make your sadness become mine, so I can steal it all away so you never have to feel another hurt in your heart,

and there you could lie if you find me to give solace,

if you find me worthy of a being so lovely as yourself,

for I have acquiesced to the wonder of your heart,

and have surrendered my ways with no intent of giving diatribes or succumbing to impure thought.

For there you lie in the barren soil of the land,

glowing and smiling, eyes gleaming, and you look so at peace,

as I stand here ready for your embrace, ready for your voice,

could we whisper to one another so closely at night?

I could sing you songs and you could make me smile like we both know we find right,

for I will lie with you in that bed made out of barren earth,

so no more would you need incomplete comfort from a lexicon of leaf,

so I can be the comfort and the shelter and the taker of your pain,

and maybe I will take from you some of the beauty you exude,

thus allowing with days and weeks of summer air,

our togetherness to be a love that makes this once barren ground now so fair.